


What Others Could Not See

by EllieL



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Hermione Granger, Business, Computers, Enthusiastic Consent, Eventual Smut, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Holidays, House Elves, Letters, Oral Sex, POV Severus Snape, Post-Hogwarts, Potions, Secret Identity, Severus Snape Lives, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Vaginal Sex, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:41:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 61,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25343356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieL/pseuds/EllieL
Summary: Hermione Granger saves Severus Snape during the Battle of Hogwarts.Fourteen years later, Potions Master Rus Prince admires a woman in the Leaky Cauldron. A spilled glass of wine alters the quiet life he'd built himself.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 536
Kudos: 913
Collections: Pip's "Not For the Kiddos" Books [With Sexy Times] I've Read in 2021





	1. Prologue, May 2, 1998

**Author's Note:**

> While this is far from my first piece of fanfic, this is my first time writing in this fandom. 
> 
> This will be a prologue plus 25 chapters, posted weekly on Fridays. Eventually E, but not until later chapters.

Of course the girl had something in which to capture his memories. Potter took what he offered, what he’d been tasked with passing on to the boy, now having given him the information the only way he was still able. He could only hope the boy would be able to reach the pensieve in his office without being killed by the Dark Lord on the way. 

Faintly, he heard their raised voices for a moment, the girl’s stringent alto rising above the two boys. Then it all faded away to silence.

He wished the venom could seep out of him as easily as his memories had, and closed his eyes against the pain of it, searing through his nerves worse than cruciatus; it could overwhelm him now, his mission as accomplished as one could hope in such circumstances. Though no sooner had he closed his eyes than felt a hand on him and jerked in shock, or jerked as much as he could, given the blood loss and decreased nerve function.

“It’s all right, sir.” He managed to open his eyes enough to see her soft brown ones staring down at him in the dimness. One hand was still resting lightly on his shoulder. “We don’t have much time, but I think I can save you.”

Then the hand was gone, rummaging through a bag at her side as she huffed out small noises of frustration. His eyes widened fractionally at the idea that anyone would bother attempting to save him; he’d known for years that he would not survive this war, and made his peace with that knowledge. But the very idea that someone might take the time to try, it was enough to spur him to move the hand not clasping his neck, to rummage in his robes, hunting the tiny pocket, the crystal vial concealed within. 

His fingers were sluggish and clumsy and couldn’t work the buttons, but she saw him, stilling his struggling hand with her own. It was thin and delicate, but so warm on his cold, shocky one. She’d touched him more in her minute here than anyone had touched him in years, for something other than harm. It made him want to draw a deep breath, but he choked when he tried.

“Careful. Slow and shallow for now, sir.” 

Her fingers found the vial and drew it carefully from his robes and studied it for a moment. He opened his mouth, impatient. She got the message, pouring it onto his tongue post-haste. Only after he’d closed his mouth and done his best to swallow, did she speak.

“Antivenin?”

He nodded cautiously, feeling the liquid trickling down his ravaged throat.

“You developed it for Mr. Weasley.” Her statement was tinged with a hint of shocked realization.

He nodded again, and closed his eyes, hoping for the tingling numbness to abate. But before he could sense anything, her warm hands were on him again, gently pulling his hand away from the wound on his neck.

“I’m going to clean this off a bit,” she warned him, before aiming her wand at him. The considered warning was a surprise, given the circumstance, but he appreciated it, and relaxed just a bit into her care. He could feel the warmth of her breath as she leaned closer, casting _lumos_ and studying his wound.

“All right, sir. My supplies are mostly first aid materials, but I think some dittany and blood replenisher should help for now, until I can send more experienced help.”

One hand rested in the edge of his jaw, tilting his head away, as the other fumbled with whatever she’d pulled from her bag. He concentrated on the feel of her fingers, trying to ground himself, until she spoke again, and he could let himself drift in her soft voice.

“I think it nicked the vein, not the artery. I’m going to apply the dittany there, now,” she warned. It should have seared painfully, but it nearly felt like a relief. “I’m worried the dittany is going to damage your trachea and muscles. It’s not really supposed to be used there. As you know, of course, sir. But I don’t have a better option right now. Or even know if there is one so…” That was all the warning she gave before she applied it to the oozing, gaping remains of his throat.

He wouldn’t have advised her to do otherwise, even if he could have spoken. Reconnecting and rebuilding such delicate tissue was difficult work for a skilled professional mediwitch. That was not something he could access now; at the moment, it seemed unlikely he’d ever have access to such treatment. 

When he felt the air going into his lungs easier, he knew the dittany had done its job and sealed the wound. He took two slow, shallow breaths and looked up at the Granger girl. Who still had her hand on his jaw. And was smiling down at him, in the midst of all this. There was a streak of blood--his blood--on her cheek. 

“Good. Now drink,” she said, tilting the blood replenisher against his lips. “Let me bandage this up a bit. Then I need to go find Harry.” A wordless flick of her wand sent the gauze swirling around his neck—when had she become proficient in nonverbal magic? But it was her gentle hand that carefully tucked in the end of the wrappings, smoothing over them for just a moment before meeting his wondering eyes.

“I have to leave you here.” She smoothed back his hair, too, as if she were soothing a child. As he had never been soothed as a child. “If—when we—I’ll send someone for you. Someone that can actually help you.”

What did the damned girl think she’d done then? _She_ had saved him! Had shown far more kindness and mercy than he deserved. He clutched at her, caught her sleeve before she could stand. She looked down at him, as he managed to mouth, sotto-voce,”Elf.”

“Elf?” Her brow furrowed, then rose and her eyes lit up. “The Hogwarts house-elves? They can take you somewhere else?”

He dropped his head in a nod of assent, of relief at being understood by this slip of a girl who might truly be the brightest witch of her age. 

She stood, giving his hand a squeeze and releasing it as she did so. “Winky!”

There was a pop as the elf appeared, looking wildly around as she did so. “Winky be helping Miss Granger? Or Headmaster Snape?” The little elf’s big eyes bugged almost comically.

“Can you please take Headmaster Snape somewhere safe, Winky?”

“Winky be serving the Headmaster of Hogwarts.” The elf nodded sharply, ears bobbing.

The elf’s cool, long fingers were wrapping around his wrist, and he closed his eyes, preparing for the pain of apparition in his current state. Miss Granger was already on the move, away from him. Darkness closed around him as Winky apparated him away.


	2. Chapter 1 - August 31, 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things actually get rolling in this chapter, as we've jumped ahead to when the real story will take place. Please enjoy!

The window creaked just slightly as he pulled it closed, shutting out the raucous sounds of Diagon Alley the Friday before the start of Hogwarts’ fall term. It was a rare thing for him to be in his office here to be subjected to it, and so physically closing the window felt a much more satisfactory response than merely casting a spell to muffle the sound. Especially after the loud cries had led him to the unmistakable sight of the combined Weasley and Potter clans, moving en masse down the street, nearly a dozen children rioting around the two accompanying women, who even from three storeys up appeared overwhelmed. Without a second glance, he returned to his work.

He spent several minutes more seated at the austere oak desk, finalizing the numbers in the books and adding an additional special order potion to his list for the next day’s custom production. With a pleased half-smile at the final number tallied in the book, he closed the leather-bound volume and replaced the quill in its holder. Expanding his business to a physical Diagon address three years ago had been a wise business move, and eight months in, Miss Rushcliffe was proving a sharp and efficient manager. A definite improvement over the correct-but-illegible bookkeeping of his previous manager, Mr. Mullins.

Rising, he crossed his office in four long strides and paused before the door. To anyone who might have witnessed his actions, he would merely have been donning his fine charcoal wool cloak; but it was the antique silver mirror hanging by the coat rack that truly held his attention, as he confirmed that his glamours were still fully in place after several hours of work. He straightened his sage cravat before opening the office door and descending past Miss Rushcliffe’s office and the crowded, noisy sales floor, to the basement level brewing area. 

Two young men, in their first jobs post-NEWT, looked up quickly from their cauldrons at his entrance and nodded in greeting. Mistress Langford, in his employ since the opening of this shop, merely continued methodically stirring. Pepperup, if the sharp scent in the room was any indication. Only after the stirring had finished and the flames were turned down to simmering strength did she turn to greet him.

“Master Prince.”

“Mistress Langford. We are on track to fulfill the initial Hogwarts order by tonight?” he asked, his near-whispering voice almost disappearing in the sound of the working laboratory. 

“We are, sir. We left the Pepperup til last, since it’s quickest to brew.”

Others, he knew, might make some sort of trite ‘keep up the good work’ comment, but he merely nodded in acknowledgement. This was as much as he ever spoke to them. He paid them handsomely, and their work here provided plenty of resume experience, brewing necessary, common potions in quantities that would prepare them all for careers as staff brewers somewhere like St. Mungo’s. Safely tucked into his pocket was the list of more complex, special-order potions that he would brew himself, in small batches, at home. Only once a month did he venture here in person to make sure things were still up to snuff and the finances were in order. He’d been here four hours today, more than adequate for him.

He kept walking, looping through the magically expansive lab, to take in the well-organized ingredients room and the gleaming racks of cauldrons and stirring rods, then headed back up the stairs to the main level, though not out onto the shop floor. Never did he venture out there during business hours. Instead, he exited through the back door of Specialized Potion Solutions, cast a light Notice-Me-Not to keep him out of the way of the masses, and made his way up the less hectic back streets toward The Leaky Cauldron.

The Leaky itself was a madhouse, full of frazzled families and children, exhausted and overstimulated, running riot. It was several dozen decibels too loud for him, accustomed as he was to an intentionally quiet life. He was second-guessing his stop here before he even got through the door, but they made an excellent shepherd’s pie, which he was habituated to having for dinner the days he came in to the office. 

Wending his way through the madness, he made his way to the end of the bar. It was impossible to miss the elegant, solitary witch sitting next to the takeaway station, chestnut curls falling down her straight back and a very attractive bottom on the high bar stool. Surreptitiously, he took in her curves while waiting for Mrs. Smyth to come take his order; he may not have been the man he appeared to be, but he was still a man nonetheless, and the black-clad witch sitting with a glass of red wine and absorbed in a book was much more attractive to contemplate than any of the other chaos around him. She seemed as out of place as a ballerina at a bullfight.

“Master Prince! The usual?” Griselda Smyth looked harried, as he supposed anyone must be by such a crowd of patrons, wisps of curly grey hair escaping from her usually tidy bun and enough stains on her white apron to remind him why he always wore dark colors when brewing. He was also reminded of the myriad reasons he did not interact with his customers personally.

“Yes, please,” he gruffed.

“Butterbeer while you wait?” She was already moving off down the bar as he shook his head, and then watched her disappear into the kitchens.

The witch had canted her head in his direction at their brief conversation, but her curls still obscured her face, and she quickly returned to her book, flipping a page with a wandless, nonverbal spell that he appreciated. He stood silently, patiently beside her, observing her concentration and stillness in the midst of everything around them, as even he spared glances up to the melee of families moving around the room. He was practiced in waiting, in watching.

But he was not watchful enough, as a herd of rowdy boys came zipping down the row between the tables, hurtling for the bar, where they collided with the legs of the woman’s stool. She’d just been taking a sip of her wine, and the burgundy liquid went flying as she was toppled off her perch. 

In an impulsive moment of chivalry, he’d stepped forward to stop her fall. That hadn’t been needed—she was apparently quite agile and managed to land on her sensibly booted feet with nary more than a wobble. But he was not so lucky, as her nearly-full wine glass splattered all over the front of him, soaking into his jacket and waistcoat and cravat.

The children bounced away, heedless, but she steadied herself on the bar before turning to him with wide, brown eyes.

“My deepest apologies, sir.”

He knew that voice, knew those eyes. He’d seen them as he teetered on the brink of death, and then not again for years, not until this moment. He’d know them anywhere, even in this beautiful woman who he was struggling to reconcile with the messy-haired waif of a girl he’d last seen them in.

“No apology is necessary on your part, madam,” he rasped, struggling to be audible over the din.

She studied him a few seconds, looking too sharply perceptive, as if she could hear through his ruined voice and see through his disguising glamours. In truth, he glamoured little, letting a trim of the hair and a slight alteration in style of dress do much of the work for him; it was a mere silvering in color of the already shortened hair, a bit of a shrinking of the nose, a hint of healthy color to his pallid skin. He could have made himself appear handsome, a second coming of Gilderoy Lockhart, but his goal had been invisibility--handsome was  _ noticed, _ and so he’d not gone overboard, simply made himself plain and unremarkable. It was enough to fool anyone not looking for Severus Snape--and for well over a decade, no one had been--so he’d walked as unseen as if he’d cast a permanent Notice-Me-Not. However, she seemed to see what others did not, if just for a moment.

Then she shook her head, and gestured at his wine-stained attire. “At least let me cast a  _ tergeo _ and pay for your order. It’s the least I can do.”

After considering the offer for a moment, he gave her a nod of agreement, and she quickly flourished her wand, removing the wine from his clothes. But still she frowned, and cast again.

“The cravat is a lost cause, I fear. Wine is not kind to silk.” She shook her head and reached out, fingers lightly grazing the stained fabric as he stood immobile, a frisson running through his body at a touch so close to his sensitive, scarred neck. Then he abruptly leaned back just enough to be out of the tantalizing whisper of her fingertips.

“It is no great loss.”

She looked at him curiously again, sharp eyes studying, as if there were something recognizable in his words. For a moment, she pursed her lips, as if ready to query him, but he was saved by the return of Mrs. Smyth with his usual shepherd’s pie and peas. 

“Here you go, fresh from the oven!”

He inclined his head and deposited a pile of coins on the counter before taking his dinner and spinning away. In the half a dozen steps it took him to reach the floo, he heard Hermione Granger’s voice behind him, calling out to him that his meal was supposed to be on her, before her voice was lost in the cacophony of the room. But he kept walking. 

With a whisper and pinch of floo powder, he was whisked away to the blessed silence of his home.


	3. Chapter 2 - September 20, 2012

In the days after the encounter with Granger, he told himself he’d forgotten about it, and about her. Certainly he told himself he’d practically forgotten about her in all the years prior, so there was no reason why such a brief encounter in a pub should be anything worth remembering. A spilt drink was hardly worth dwelling on. He threw himself into the lengthy list of potions he had to brew and send off, and thought the matter behind him.

Before even his expansion to Diagon Alley, he’d been able to upgrade his own home, and build personal potions laboratory. Business had proved profitable enough that he’d finally been able to kit out a lab to his exact specifications, and maintain it personally, the way he wanted it kept. It was one of his few true delights in life, and he savoured the time spent in it.

Yet a little more than a week after the incident in the pub, a large tawny owl arrived as he was taking his lunch. At first, he thought it must be an emergency potion request--generally the only owl post he received. But the bird carried more than a mere note. There was a both a letter and a small parcel. One glance at the handwriting revealed the sender—he’d read enough of her overlong essays to be well familiar with the writing, though it had altered a bit in the years since he’d last seen it.

The sight of the box froze him in fear, until he realized that the green box was not any kind of symbolically Slytherin-colored gift wrap in recognition of his identity, but the deep green box of Harrods. He put it aside for a moment and focused on the envelope. One could tell a lot about a person by their correspondence. This was nearly aggressively Muggle—heavy ivory paper stock, written in fountain pen, sealed with adhesive rather than wax. It was a curious sight to see “Master Prince” scrawled so commonly across such an envelope.

A flick of his fingers opened it and he withdrew the note within. Also on ivory paper, lighter stock than the envelope, embossed with a delicate, interlocked HG in the upper left corner. He stared at it as a whole for a moment before he could focus on the words.

_ Master Prince,  
  
_ _ Mrs. Smyth gave me your name, and told me that you could be reached via your business, though you were not often in at the Diagon Alley location. I hope the owl finds you promptly.  
  
_ _ Please do forgive my forwardness in writing to you and sending this along, but as a  _ tergeo  _ was unable to do the job I promised, I felt you were owed. Especially given that you didn’t permit me to buy your dinner, as I also promised to do.  
  
_ _ Perhaps we will meet at The Leaky Cauldron again sometime, and I can follow through on the dinner offer. _

_ Regards, _

_ Mistress Hermione Granger _

He gaped at the letter for several minutes, ham sandwich long forgotten. Then he reached for the Harrods box and cast a few diagnostic spells at it. No tracking charms, no Weasley pranks, no Dark Magic. Not being a habitual recipient of well-intentioned gifts, he was not quite sure what to make of it. Cautiously he opened the lid, and brushed back a filmy piece of dark green tissue paper to reveal a carefully folded rectangle of dusky sage silk. He lifted the material from the box with care, and twisted the cravat through his fingers; it was finer and softer than the one that had been ruined.

Placing it carefully on the table, he  _ accio’d _ a scroll and quill. Before he could put much thought into the matter, he dashed off a note of his own.

_ Mistress Granger,  
  
_ _ Your kind gift was wholly unnecessary but appreciated. The cravat is generous, and you have my thanks for it.  
  
_ _ Mrs. Smyth is correct; I only attend to my shop in Diagon once each month to check over the books and coming orders. Perhaps we will meet in The Leaky Cauldron at some point in the future, but you most certainly do not owe me a meal. I took nothing as an obliged promise, only an unnecessarily generous offer. _

_ With my thanks, _

_ Master Rus Prince  _

Sealing the letter, he handed it over to the still-waiting tawny owl, along with a bit of the ham from his abandoned sandwich, and watched it take off. Only after it had removed itself from his property did he shake his head and wonder what in Merlin’s name he’d been thinking, writing back to her so impulsively. He stuffed the card and cravat into his pocket and disposed of the remains of his sandwich, before returning downstairs to his work.

He had plenty to occupy his mind and his time here at home. He did not need to spend time having dinner at The Leaky Cauldron, no matter how fine their shepherd's pie might be. 

Yet, when the tawny owl appeared at his dining room window at lunch the next day, a he could not help the involuntary upward flexion of his lips. He did, however, take the letter and treat the bird, making sure it was well gone, along with any temptation of immediate reply, before he opened the newest missive.

_ Master Prince,  
  
_ _ I am delighted to hear that the cravat was pleasing to you. Obviously, you are a meticulous dresser, and I was hoping to do justice to the ruined item.  
  
_ _ You are lucky to have a business that requires your personal attention so infrequently. You must have great faith in the skill and integrity of your employees. I am myself in the process of opening a London office of my own business and finding the endeavor to be rather stressful, even with reliable management in place at the home office.  
  
_ _ My London offices are just around the corner from The Leaky, and I will look for you at the end of the month. I often finish my week with a glass of wine there. You may not feel you are owed dinner by me, but I feel I owe it to you. _

_ Regards, _

_ Mistress Hermione Granger _

  
  


It was essentially an invitation to write back, to question her about her own business, her apparent Mastery, perhaps even to setting a time to meet her for dinner. All but the dinner plans, however, he could suss out on his own. Rather than give in to the foolish desire to reply to her, to encourage her correspondence, he folded the note back into its envelope and tucked it into his pocket, and continued on with his soup.

Yet the puzzle of it, of her, tumbled around in his mind, occupying thoughts that would have been better occupied with Wolfsbane improvements and Veritaserum modifications. She’d all but disappeared by the time he’d recovered enough from his injuries to pay any attention to the news. Not that he’d sought out news about her, but she  _ had _ saved him, and he was a curious man. She had been photographed in the  _ Daily Prophet’s _ interminable coverage of the Potter-Weasley wedding, but not at the Weasley-Macavoy wedding the following year. Minerva had ceased to mention her activities beyond something about going overseas, back when she still felt the need to visit him personally, and fill him in on happenings at Hogwarts and with its plethora of students that he didn’t give a damn about.

He decided to do some digging, and see what he could find out about where she’d disappeared to for so many years while seeming to accomplish so much. Mastery records were a matter of public record, though it was rare anyone bothered to check them—that was a large part of the reason no one had questioned his identity as Rus Prince for these many years. But he always checked them on potential employees, along with NEWT scores. It would raise no eyebrows at the Ministry for him to go peruse a few files in the records offices one morning. 

Returning to his home office, just beside the stairway down to his private potions laboratory, he skimmed through his planner. The current batch of Veritaserum was due to the Ministry next week anyway. It would be a simple matter to deliver it, and then stop by the Archives & Records office; he’d done it often enough before that it would seem routine. He did his best to stick to routine; it drew little attention and drew few questions, and he liked his life without public scrutiny.

Closing the planner, he made his way down the stairs to the lab, to check on the status of the simmering brews. His focus thus shifted, he was lost in the world of his potions well into the night, and it would not be until he was bottling the Veritaserum that his mind would again drift to Miss Granger.  _ Mistress _ Granger.

He was quite curious about that indeed, as he’d not felt intrigued in years by anything beyond a potions project.


	4. Chapter 3 - September 19, 2012

Despite an interim rebuilding period and two subsequent elections, very little had changed about the Ministry. Bureaucracy moved slowly, and was maladapted to the kinds of rapid changes that had been hoped for after the fall of the Dark Lord. His trial had been part of that rebuilding, and that had been quite enough of the Ministry for him, even if it did ultimately end in a pardon. Severus Snape had declined all their offers of work, either as a Potions Master or as an Unspeakable or as an Auror. Only after something of a new identity—he’d only legally changed his middle name, after all, then just merely chosen to publicly identify as new version of his name—and several years of ignored owls did they get the message and leave Severus Snape alone. It was only at that point did Rus Prince’s flourishing business agree to take on a business contract with the Ministry.

Now, after several years in and out, with him personally delivering potions, he truly marveled that none of the nation’s leading magical law enforcement officials had ever bothered to take a closer look at the glamoured wizard who walked right into their offices under a somewhat assumed name and delivered cases of potions for their use.

None of them seemed to recognize his sneer as he delivered the ordered cases, though they all seemed to treat him respectfully. A few even inclined their heads in greeting. Including Deputy Chief Auror Harry Potter, who had apparently grown no more wary for all his experiences. None of them had questioned who he was, or looked further into his identity and qualifications, before giving him a long-standing contract for potentially dangerous and illegal-outside-Ministry-application potions. Surely the entire department wouldn’t be quite so friendly if they realized who he actually was.

Dunderheads, every one of them. He could only shake his head as he left the Magical Law Enforcement behind and headed for the lift to Archives & Records.

No one paid him any attention in the lift, either, as it glided between floors and departments. Several witches and wizards came and went, acknowledging him with a nod but failing to register anything beyond his presence. He’d truly succeeded in making himself invisibly average.

The clerk behind the records counter barely acknowledged him either, merely asked him to sign in, and directed him to the expansive, groaning shelves of mastery records with a wave of his hand. Severus nodded, looking down the long rows of thick volumes. Magical recordkeeping was often slipshod, and frequently illogical. From long experience searching these records, he knew that rather than the sensible way of organizing the ledgers—either alphabetically by the name of the Master, or by subjects of Mastery—they were organized chronologically in a collection that stretched back over a thousand years. And everything was intermixed in the chronological system, Masteries shelved next to the NEWT results, along with marriages and wills and OWLs. That had been fine when he was searching for information on potential employees, for whom he had a resume and a date of supposed Mastery or testing—there were, he’d found, a large number of witches and wizards claiming remarkable but completely fabricated results out there—but now, all he had was a name. 

But he’d learned a thing or two from searching out those liars over the years. One was to take his time, because from the clerk’s startled reaction the first time he’d left in under ten minutes, people ended up mired down here, wasted hours lost in the kilometers and kilometers of records, and then never came back; speed was suspicious. He loathed wasting time, but was left with little choice, for his life had taught him not to appear suspicious. 

So he milled up and down the aisle a few times, pulling out a few random ledgers and scrolls and paging through them without reading. Only after a few minutes did he then check the position of the clerk on his last pass around the shelving. 

Practically asleep at the desk. He made his way to the far end of the aisle.

“ _ Accio _ Hermione Granger’s Mastery.” A mere swish and flick of his wand, and two massive, dragonhide-bound volumes came sailing towards him. Curiously, he stared down at the two volumes, then carried them to one of the desks lining the back wall.

One was from 2001, the other from 2003. Had she done a doctorate? It was practically unheard of now, outside of mediwizardry, but not impossible, especially with what he remembered of her academic prowess. Yet the letters hadn’t been signed Doctor Granger, and he’d asked for mastery records—spells were trickily specific like that.

He tapped his wand to the 2001 volume, and it fell open to the section for Foreign Registrations at the back of the volume. They were rare for British wizards and witches, and took up a single page at the back.

_ Hermione Granger, Transfiguration Mastery apprenticed and granted under Mistress Abigaile Mulberry, New York, USA, 3 May 2001  
_ _ “Micro-transfiguration and the adaptation of technology for magical functions,” Modern Transfiguration, April 2001 _

Unsurprising, given what he knew of the young woman’s talents, that three years after the end of the war, and she’d already completed a mastery that usually often took more than four years. That she’d chosen to go do so in America was interesting, but perhaps not so surprising—she wouldn’t have been as well known there, and could have worked unobtrusively. He could certainly appreciate that. Nor was Transfiguration a surprise, given her obvious talent at it as a student. 

But the subject of her mastery research was indeed a surprise, and not at all something he would have expected from her, nor understood much about himself. Curious.

Setting that book aside, he pulled over the 2003 volume. He didn’t even bother with magic, and opened to the Foreign Registrations section at the back. She was one of only three names listed.

_ Mistress Hermione Granger, Charms Mastery apprenticed and granted under Master Cooper Finch, New York, USA 22 May 2003  
_ _ “Charming power: Lithium-ion solutions for everyday use,” Charms Today, May 2003 _

Dual masteries, in Transfigurations and Charms, was a considerable amount of work in five years. He’d longed for the ability to go for a second mastery in Charms or Herbology to compliment his Potions Mastery, but the state of his world had not allowed it; he’d barely scraped by with time for the first because Voldemort had wanted it. Having almost immediately been sent to work at Hogwarts, it had seemed at first unnecessary and later too consuming of time he did not have, even though he knew Filius or Pomona would have happily aided him in achieving it. And now it seemed rather late to go pick up something like that, even if he could somehow figure out how to do it without fully revealing his identity. 

The topics of both her papers were both intriguing and puzzling to him, however. While he understood the words in the titles, they did not mean anything to him. He could only assume they had something to do with muggle computer technology, and resolved to do a bit more reading and research on the topic. The journals she’s published in were both American, but common enough that he might even be able to track down copies. 

Shaking his head, he cleared away the reveries of twenty years past, and closed the volumes. He wasn’t jealous, not truly; he was well acquainted with that feeling, and had wasted too much of his youth on it. He sat a few moments and ruminated on what precisely he did feel; admittedly wistful for lost opportunities of his own, but also rather pleased to see that much like himself, she’d shaken off Wizarding Britain’s expectations and gone and done what she wished. Apparently quite successfully, if her opening of a second office for whatever it was that she did was any indication.

He mulled that for a moment, too. It would be easy enough to walk down to Diagon Alley and see if her office was obvious. But then he would feel obliged to visit his own shop, and he had no wish to do that today. In fact, he’d left a potion to rest that needed attention this afternoon, specifically to avoid such a temptation.

Instead, he rose, and returned towards the desk, where he handed the two volumes back to the clerk with a sharp nod, then made his way back to the atrium. There were few witches and wizards at this time of the afternoon, and his footsteps echoed across the nearly empty space. He ignored the temptation of the elevators to the street, and headed straight to the fireplaces to floo home. He would be back in Diagon Alley in two weeks, to check in on his apothecary. Perhaps he would run into her in the Leaky Cauldron when he stopped by for his dinner, but in the meantime, he had a business of his own to run and no time to indulge further foolish whimsy. 

Firmly, he put Mistress Hermione Granger from his mind, and focused on his home office as he stepped into the floo. Green flared around him, and he headed back to work. There was plenty of that to keep his mind busy, he told himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad you're all enjoying this so far. We'll see more of Hermione after this, and the chapters begin to be a bit longer starting next week.


	5. Chapter 4 - September 28, 2012

Severus hated checking the ledgers. Frankly, he hated much of the day-to-day of running a business, and had been thrilled when Specialized Potion Solutions had become successful enough for him to hire someone else to handle the daily minutia for him. It had involved a smidge of extra-legal legilimency, but he’d finally hired a superlative manager in Miss Rushcliffe, and she’d taken to the job well enough to exceed even his expectations. He’d never found an issue with the books, the shop always looked tidy, and orders came in and went out in a timely manner. Yet he still felt rather obliged to show up occasionally and make sure the shop he was putting his somewhat fictitious name on was doing things to his exacting standards.

Dropping his quill on the desk, he gazed out the window at the dreary afternoon. Raindrops splattered the leaded windowpane, making the swirl of shoppers below indistinct. He rubbed his eyes, already blurry from staring at the columns of numbers. Blinking, he cast a  _ tempus _ and sighed; it had been three hours but felt as if it were twice that. The business was far more successful than he could have hoped for, starting out, and the amount of information to take in was sometimes overwhelming. Days like today, with large orders for Hogwarts and St. Mungo’s to account for, he wondered if he might not be better off stopping in slightly more often, perhaps twice a month, rather than merely once. 

Packing up his ledgers, he straightened and rolled his shoulders and heard the pop of his neck just as he felt the scar tissue tighten and rub against the silk cravat he nearly always wore to conceal it. Sometimes, though, even the finest silk was too much against it, and he gritted his teeth and drew in a deep breath. The pain passed as he held himself still. 

Then, as he always did, he crossed the room to check his glamours in the mirror, before heading down from his office. Passing Rushcliffe’s empty office, he left the ledgers on her desk, then descended further to see her out on the main sales floor of the shop as he passed the entryway. She was observant, though, and noticed him lingering a second longer than normal. 

“Can I help you with something before you go today, sir?” She asked as she approached, with the same solicitous tone she used with customers.

“I merely wished to inform you that I will return in two weeks.”

The young woman’s brow raised lightly, but she nodded. “Understood, sir.” She then returned to the shop floor, as if the interaction hadn’t taken place, and began assisting a customer with Corn Dissolving Solution. He was reminded once again why he was so pleased with his hiring choice.

At the top of the stairway to the lab, he hesitated. They were in the middle of a St. Mungo’s order, gallons of Skelegro and Blood Replenisher in progress. His arrival might throw off their brewing timeline, and he had no need to speak with any of them; Miss Rushcliffe would let them know he’d be back sooner than what had become routine. But it felt like skiving off work to go have a drink if he didn’t stop by the actual reason for the shop, the potions laboratory itself. It was the part of the business he actually enjoyed, after all.

Down in the lab, the assistants and potions mistress were all hard at work, with seven cauldrons going between the three of them. They tilted their heads in acknowledgment as he walked through, but were professional enough not to interrupt their brewing to chatter at him, which was pleasing. He took a look at all the potions currently bubbling away. 

Looking down at the Skelegro that one of the assistants was lowering his glass stirring rod into, he asked, “You have been informed, Mr. Kapoor, of the final counterclockwise stir we add at the end for this brew?”

“Yes, sir.” The young man spoke without the veil of fear that prior students might have answered him with in the past, and he was glad for that. None of his employees had studied under Professor Snape, even if they might not recognize him as the same man.

Nodding, he continued on his circuit around the room, ending near Mistress Langford. They nodded at one another, and he made his way back out of the lab and out the back of the shop. He’d studiously avoided the entrance to Diagon Alley that morning, apparating directly into his office as he habitually did, but now he spared a glance around as he made his way to The Leaky.

None of the shops looked new, and so he presumed Hermione must have an office somewhere less obvious than the street front, though that made little sense in a business. He chose not to investigate further then, instead stepping into the pub, which was decidedly less chaotic than his visit the prior month. Old habits of observation took over without conscious thought, and he caught sight of her in his peripheral vision before making it halfway to the bar.

Rather than the bar stool she’d occupied before, she was off to the left in one of the two-person booths, a glass of red wine and a hefty book open before her once more. Her long curls were pulled back from her lovely face this time, cascading down her back, allowing her to catch his eye as soon as he noticed her. Her reaction here was, in his mind, the first test of how this might go. 

To his very great relief, rather than the obnoxious flailing which he might have expected from her as a student--and which would have sent him straight home as soon as his shepherd’s pie was ready--she merely raised her wine glass in his direction, then took a sip and waited. She was studying him as much as he was studying her, and he realized how much of an advantage he had—he knew who she really was, knew some of her history, some of what she’d been through. She knew nothing of him but the wizard she’d met in passing in this pub a month prior. 

Once again, though, he was left with the impression that she saw something more than was visible. As if she saw, if not  _ through _ the glamours, perhaps the presence of them upon him. How she could, when he’d been in the presence of people who’d known Severus Snape for years without them noticing, he wasn’t sure, but he was certain she saw something.

“Mistress Granger.” Inclining his head slightly, he stepped up to the edge of her booth. At that moment he wished for his old voice, deep and smooth, without the rasp that irritated his throat.

“Master Prince! I hoped I might see you this week. Would you care to join me, at least for a drink?” Her smile seemed so genuine that he nearly returned it himself.

“A glass of wine in your company would not be too taxing upon my time.” It would in fact do him a world of good after three hours spent with the books. As he seated himself across from her, he peered down at the book in front of her. From what he could tell, it was nothing academic.

Mrs. Smyth appeared almost before he was seated, looking surprised to see him sitting down, but a sly smile upon her face. “Master Prince! Something other than the usual today then?”

“A glass of the Syrah for now.” It was too early for his meal, and he was unsure how long he might linger here indulging his curiosity. 

“I’ve ordered a cheese plate, if you do care for a nibble,” Granger offered.

He inclined his head in acceptance of the offer, then sat quietly, unsure of how to proceed. It had been far too long since he’d had need of more than perfunctory conversation, both because it hurt his throat to speak for long and because he preferred his solitude. It was safe and comfortable. But now he wanted to speak and suddenly felt out of his depth. She did not seem inclined to press him, merely sipped her own wine and slipped a bookmark into her book. That did give him inspiration for a topic he should have already known would be an easy opening for him.

“What are you reading?” 

She slid the volume across the table towards him. “It’s muggle historical fiction, the sequel to the Booker Prize winner a few years back.”

And with that, they were off, in easy conversation that roamed from several recent pieces of literature, to history both muggle and wizarding, and a few recent articles on charmed potions recreated from historical sources. He’d had a nibble of Stilton and of Gloucester, then given in and ordered his usual meal to be taken with her. Conversation this easy was a revelation for him, and to his surprise, he found he enjoyed it. 

Only when they were finishing their respective meals did he venture to ask, “In your letter you mentioned opening a new office here. What business are you in?”

Her whole face lit up, even more so that it had when discussing Tudor politics. “Integrated Technology. I started it while working in New York, where adoption of muggle technology is much more common amongst the wizarding population. It’s not always easy to adapt electronics to work with magic, but frankly, sometimes a mobile phone call or email is so much easier than any magical message could be.”

“I have only passing familiarity with the technology, but the immediacy of it does have it’s appeal.”

“That is a factor, as well as cutting down on parchment and paper wastage. It was a big push at the MUN, and it made communication between the offices so much faster and more efficient.”

“The MUN?” He quirked a brow.

“I started working at the Magical United Nations part time on international rights of non-human magical beings, while working on my Transfiguration mastery. Then I went to work there full time, but the charms work involved in working with the technology just sort of led itself into a Charms mastery as well.”

“Dual Masteries. Impressive.” As if he didn’t already know that, but he enjoyed the faint blush that came to her face at his praise.

She waved a hand, and sipped the last of her glass of pinot gris. “It wasn’t what I planned on pursuing. I wanted to focus on rights issues. Everything with the technology just sort of...happened.” 

“As life often does.” That was something he knew only too well. “Have you given up your work on rights issues?” 

Twirling her now-empty wine glass between her fingers, she sighed. “I thought Britain was backwards on the issue. Then I tried to make headway on the rest of the world, and found it was even worse--so much worse--in most places. It was heartbreaking and frustrating and exhausting.” She shook her head, meeting his eyes for only a moment that let him see a hint of tears in them, before casting her gaze back down at the glass. “I haven’t been with the MUN in six years. But I have continued with several rights organizations as a volunteer, and now as a board member. And I try to lead by example. My office manager in New York, Tygve, is a goblin, and there are several free house-elves in various capacities.”

“And here?”

The smile lit her face up, and he couldn’t have looked away for all the galleons in Gringotts. “I’m still in the middle of the hiring process. But I’ve already got a remarkable goblin programmer on board, and an interview with a free elf tomorrow afternoon.”

“Hiring the right staff makes all the difference.” He thought of his own smoothly operating office. “I have been remarkably lucky with mine.”

Smyth appeared then with the check. There was an awkward moment as they both fumbled for it, but ultimately Hermione snatched it away. “I told you dinner was on me.”

“It’s really not necessary, Mistress Granger.”

“Hermione, please. And it may not be necessary, but I would like to.”

“Very well, Hermione.” He inclined his head. “Then I thank you for a delightful meal. I fear I must return home to brew now, as I have a potion that needs attention two hours after sunset.”

“Maybe I’ll see you again next month, then.” The tone was almost...flirtatious. She was definitely smiling at him, and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. He understood there were roughly a thousand reasons someone would be attracted to her, but even as Rus Prince, he had no idea what she might see in him.

“I will be back in my office here in two weeks time.” Standing up from the table, he offered her his hand, which she took without hesitation, and shook firmly.

“Well, then hopefully we’ll both find ourselves here for dinner in two weeks.”

“Perhaps we will, Hermione,” he answered, taking his leave. And he found that he truly meant it--this had been the most enjoyable evening he’d spent in recent memory.

Only when he returned home did he notice that the muscles of his face felt differently, and not from the glamours. Severus found himself smiling, without having realized it. He realized he was in fact looking forward to seeing her in two weeks. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm working on Ch. 16 now, and feeling like this might be 20-25ish chapters total.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 5 - October 12, 2012

Two busy weeks later found him back in The Leaky Cauldron, well past his customary dinner hour. An urgent order from St. Mungo’s had arrived while he was in the store, and it kept him at the lab later than he’d planned to be there; it was rare he brewed at the Diagon Alley location, but the potion was for an emergency. So he’d rolled up his sleeves and gone to brew meticulously calibrated infant-strength Antiinflammationem, a tricky autoimmune inflammation reducer. The books would keep to a later date, or even the end of the month, but the child might not last the night if he didn’t get to work. 

He wasn’t sure he’d still find her waiting for him, wasn’t even sure after two weeks that he wanted her to be waiting for him, or if he was just intrigued by the pretty puzzle. But she was in the same booth as she’d been two weeks before, an empty glass of wine and a nearly empty plate of fish and chips in front of her. While he approached, she nibbled on one chip distractedly while flipping the page of the file in front of her, oblivious to his presence. He’d learned to walk quietly during his years as a spy, and used that knowledge to reverse the skill and practically tap-dance up to the table. Yet she still startled when he greeted her.

“Good evening, Mistress Granger.”

“Master Prince! I thought we’d agreed it was Hermione.” She pushed her portfolio of papers aside and smiled up at him.

“So we did, Hermione. May I join you?”

“Of course! I’m afraid I missed lunch today and just couldn’t wait for you--”

“No, I was kept busy with an emergency potion quite a bit later than planned. And you may call me Rus.” Actually, he hated the shortening name, but what else could he do but return her gesture of amity? Certainly giving her his full name wasn’t an option, and he did not wish to always be Master Prince to her. 

“You need a drink, then, Rus.” She was waving to Mrs. Smyth, and ordering him a Syrah and shepherd’s pie before he’d even finished removing his cloak.

Part of him wanted to berate her for her presumption. But a much larger part of him was pleased that she’d remembered, and that she’d cared enough to see him taken care of so directly now. He let his habitual scowl fall away fleetingly, something not quite a smile teasing the corners of his lips, and he still felt a bit awkward as he did so--smiling was a reaction he’d spent decades suppressing, and nothing in his mostly-solitary time since the fall of the Dark Lord had given him much cause to practice it, either. As his face fell into a more natural, neutral somber state, he sighed, and leaned his head back against the wall of the booth. Only when her soft voice caused his eyes to snap open did he realize he’d closed them.

“Would you rather just go home?”

“No.” He couldn’t think of anything he’d like better right now than spending a few hours in her warm presence, getting out of his own head. Blinking twice, he ran a hand across his face, then blinked again and looked at the beautiful young woman sitting across from him.

Two glasses of wine appeared on the table before them at that moment, and Hermione gave a little wave at Mrs. Smyth behind the bar. Picking up the glass before him, he hesitated a moment, before tilting it towards her a bit.

Their glasses clinked softly as she said, “Cheers.” For a moment they sipped in silence.

“How did your interview with the elf go?”

“Oh!” She blinked, then broke into a wide smile. “She was good. I was actually looking through my interview notes while I was waiting on you, trying to make a decision.”

His only answer was an inquisitive hum and a raised brow, but she seemed to understand well enough. 

“Izzy was lovely, but I also really liked Beth Prewett.”

“A relation?”

“Of the Weasleys? Some kind of cousin, I think. She’s a squib, but her instinctive skill with the tech makes me suspect there’s some latent magic there that just doesn’t align with what we traditionally recognize.”

“You have a difficult choice, then.”

She studied him for a moment. “Do you do your own hiring?” At his nod, she continued, “How do you make your decisions?”

It would not do at all to tell her that a bit of legilimency played a role. “Instinct, as much as anything. Asking for a practical demonstration of skills can be useful.”

“I may have to rely on instinct, then. They both did a remarkable job of rendering a mobile usable in the presence of magic.”

“Really?” He had been curious about them, being acquainted with older telephonic technology as a child. But the one time he’d tried to examine one, it had begun smoking alarmingly.

“It’s one of our most requested adaptations. Have you used one?” She dug into a handbag beside her on the banquette and pulled out a slim black device. As he ate his dinner, she demonstrated what the little gadget was capable of, which was an admittedly impressive amount beyond a mere phone call.

When he was finishing up his meal, she tucked the mobile away and grew quiet, finishing her wine. It felt like an amicable silence, and he quite liked it. Then she met his eyes as he sat down his own empty wine glass.

“You’re wearing several glamours.” It was not a question, as her shrewd eyes studied his.

“I am.”

“But not your eyes.”

“No.” He stared at her, wondering if she truly recognized him. 

“Your voice is…” Her brows furrowed, as if she were trying to put together the puzzle pieces.

“Not a glamour.” It was an old injury, now, so long ago he’d given up any thought of improvement years ago. That it no longer hurt so much as it once did had to satisfy him.

“I was going to say ‘oddly familiar.’ Your cadence and inflection, I mean.” There was an almost challenging look on her face.

“Indeed?” 

“That, right there.” Nodding emphatically, she then fell silent and looked down at the remains of their meal. Then she pushed up the left cuff of her soft grey jumper, revealing the still-red, violently carved damage to the milky skin of her forearm. Mudblood. The word triggered a near-visceral reaction within him, but he took a deep breath and calmed himself, and forced his attention back to her voice. 

“I wore several glamours, too. For years. It was exhausting, trying to hide part of myself away from the world.”

It was a draining use of his magic, it was true, holding multiple glamours in place for long stretches of time. That was a large part of the reason he rarely went out in public, and conducted most of his business via correspondence. There wasn’t a person who’d seen him without his glamours in a decade. Part of him wanted to cast  _ finite _ and show her here and now what he suspected she had already guessed. But the more fearful part of him, the part that had kept him hidden away and not daring to interact, was urging him to flee now and keep well away from Hermione Granger’s perceptive eyes in the future.

Something of his conflict must have played across his face, because she pulled the cuff of the cable knit jumper back down to her wrist. “But I usually keep myself covered, even now. People seeing and not understanding can be even more difficult than the glamours.”

He got the sense that she wasn’t speaking of casual passers-by from her far-off look and pensive tone. Unconsciously, his hand found its way up to the edge of his cravat, to the wound he kept covered. Tucking a finger in the edge of the silk, he traced the jagged line of the wound that was almost visible through the silk, though he kept his eyes on her.

Her gaze did not waver, only took in briefly what was being done before meeting his again. An inclination of her head was her only acknowledgement. 

The expectation he’d held was that she’d press the point, ask for more, call him out. Give him the excuse some part of him wanted to depart in a huff. But she did none of that.

Gathering her folder up and tucking it into her bag, she slid from the booth. “Shall we split it this time, Rus?”

Nearly dumbfounded, it took him a moment to shake his head. “No, I kept you waiting. My treat this time.”

She smiled at him then, eyes twinkling just a bit. “Perhaps next time we can split it fairly.”

“Perhaps next time we can do better than the Leaky.” He had no idea what had prompted him to say it, even if he meant it. It was as if his mouth had completely disconnected from his higher reasoning and was taking orders directly from his traitorous heart. “Meet me at my office in two weeks?”

“I wouldn’t miss it. Rus _. _ ” With a wink, she turned and practically sauntered out of the pub. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the swish of her deep plum skirt as she went.

After settling the bill and floo’ing home, he sat for a long time in his study, nursing a tumbler of Ogden’s and wondering just what he was doing. He was a man of fifty-two, barely middle-aged by wizarding standards but far too old for youthful flirtations or falling in love. 

Where had such a thought even come from?

Yet he couldn’t deny that Hermione Granger aroused feelings that he’d too long suppressed and ignored. And she was one of the few people he might feel safe appearing as himself with. Tonight she’d practically announced that she knew who he really was, and hadn’t gone immediately running from him. In fact, she’d seemed to be  _ flirting _ with him, if his prior limited experience with such things was any indication.

Lingering in his mind was the word ‘mudblood,’ a painful contrast with her beautiful skin and still looking barely healed after all this time. That at least was something that he knew how to address. He rose from his chair and unwarded a section of his books, feeling the dark magic roll off of them in a wave as he did so. Skimming the titles, he pulled out  _ Volnus Malum _ and settled back into his chair to research.

The antique grandfather clock in the hallway chimed midnight before he left the study and climbed the stairs to his room. He was still a maelstrom of emotions that he was rather uncomfortable experiencing, and had no idea what to do with Hermione when she arrived at his office in two weeks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading!
> 
> At this point, I've just started writing Ch. 19 (and smut has happened), so this will continue its regular weekly Friday updates for a good long while, and hopefully will all be written in a timely enough fashion that the schedule will continue to the end. I feel like it will ultimately end up 25ish chapters.


	7. Chapter 6 - October 26, 2012

While the prior two weeks had seemed busy, the emergency at St. Mungo’s seemed to set off a flurry of such requirements, and Severus spent nearly every day down in his potions lab, brewing elixirs and unguents and antidotes. Since he left the stock products like headache relief and burn salves to the brewers at his shop and concentrated on only the advanced and bespoke potions work, he was frequently left working long hours on complex problems requiring challenging to brew potions or even potions that needed to be altered or created. It was engaging and stimulating, and made the time fly by, as it frequently seemed there were too few hours in the day to accomplish everything he needed or wanted to.

But he had managed to create an ointment for her arm, after several unsatisfactory trials, just in time to bring along for her. It was only a small jar now, but if it worked as well as his testing indicated it would, it would be enough. Not to remove the scarring entirely--that was beyond anything even he was capable of--but enough to allow it to heal and fade. He had carefully tucked the glass jar of vivid pink ointment into his pocket before leaving home that morning.

So busy had he been in his laboratory that when he arrived at the office the day of his arranged meeting with Hermione, he had not spared much thought for what he wanted to do with her. That evening, at least; his mind had spared quite a few dreaming hours thinking of things to do  _ with _ her that were quite out of the question at this point in time. Quite possibly would remain completely in the realm of fantasy, for he was not certain how he truly felt about her, beyond mere physical attraction, because there were so many complicating factors. 

How she would react to his true identity was perhaps the largest and most complex of those factors. She’d seemed pleased enough to meet Rus Prince for dinner, but Severus Snape was an entirely different matter.

He wanted to go somewhere that he could drop his glamours with her, letting her see who he truly was. As he opened the supply inventory, he considered ordering food to eat in his office; it was comfortable enough, well removed from the general public, and would not require a large granting of trust from her. Yet it was also an office over an apothecary’s shop, hardly a vast improvement over dining at The Leaky Cauldron, except in privacy. 

As he rummaged in his desk drawer for the current Slug & Jiggers catalog, he considered inviting her to a muggle establishment. She certainly wouldn’t be averse to the idea, and he wouldn’t really be either. Except he was completely unfamiliar with muggle dining options beyond the simple coffee shop just outside Diagon Alley, and having her pick the restaurant defeated the point of inviting her to meet him here. 

Jotting down a list of what needed to be reordered for his personal stores, he considered making a list of ingredients as well, and making them dinner. He was no gourmand, but he knew how to make a few things well. It would require her being willing to travel with him to his home, and would require him to reveal not just himself but his home to her. He added calcium carbonate and daisy roots to the list in front of him, and continued to weigh his options.

Deciding it would be best to be prepared, he called, “Nella!”

A soft  _ pop _ interrupted the quiet of the office, and an elderly house-elf in a crisp grey pillowcase appeared. “Master is requiring Nella?”

“If you please, Nella.” He’d inherited the elf along with the Prince properties. While he’d sold the dank, decaying house, the elf had been more than happy with his offer of continued employment as his housekeeper. “I’ll give you a grocery list, if you can do some shopping for the house? And put a bottle of sauvignon blanc to chill.”

Usually he just left the shopping to her entirely and ate whatever she prepared for dinner, or made something with whatever was on hand. The pantry was always well-stocked, so he had little cause for shopping lists in the past. Briefly, he wondered if giving her a list now would cause offense.

“Of course sir! Do you want me to be making something special?” Her eyes lit up, and he considered her eager offer. She was an excellent cook, and he was sure dinner would be perfect. But he also knew Hermione might take less than favorably to finding out he had an elf cooking their dinner, given her early career. Perhaps easing her into awareness of his employment agreement with Nella would be better.

“A dessert of some kind would be appreciated. I won’t require your assistance for dinner, though, Nella. I’d like to cook for myself, if you don’t mind.” He jotted down a few items on a scrap of parchment for her, knowing the basics would already be stocked. 

“It is Master’s kitchen.” The elf nodded, but eyed him sceptically. By their agreement, she did not enter his potions lab, and was unaware of meticulously he kept his preparation and brewing areas.

“I’ll try not to make too big a mess of it for you.” He handed her the list.

Taking it, she nodded sharply. “Nella will have this waiting, sir.” With another soft pop, he was alone in the office once more. 

That being decided, he tried to reapply himself to the status of his shop. Since he’d gotten involved in brewing rather than bookkeeping last time he’d been here, and the shop had been just as busy as he’d been at his home lab. Profits were up, enough that he was considering whether he might offer a raise to Miss Rushcliffe and Mistress Langford; they had both been with him several years and were exceptional workers who did their jobs well and required little of him. He was just deciding that they were due, and beginning to calculate a percentage that might work, when there was a rap at the door. 

“Enter.” He closed the ledger and was just settling the quill back in its stand when the door swung open and admitted Hermione.

The room suddenly seemed brighter as she entered. Her hair was swept up in a loose chignon at the nape of her neck, just above the collar of the simple, elegant charcoal robes she wore. When she spoke, her voice was quiet but sure. “Hello, Severus.” 

He’d been making to rise and greet her, but froze in his seat. Falling into old habits, he let an emotionless mask settle over his face, and tried to actually find that emotionless place within himself again. For her to come in so Gryffindorishly announcing his identity felt like a betrayal of trust, even though it had been something he’d been planning to confirm to her this evening. It had been his to reveal, not hers to take. 

As coolly and deeply as he could manage, he intoned, “Mistress Granger.” 

That stopped her in her tracks. But rather than the cowed look he’d expected, she looked indignant. “I thought we were past that.”

“I thought I’d asked you to address me as Rus.”

She peered at him through narrowed eyes. “Has that actually managed to fool anyone else?”

“Everyone else.”

“Truly?” She let out a huff of disbelieving laugher. 

He inclined his head. “People see what they are looking for. And what they do not wish to see, they are happy to overlook.”

“Rus Prince?” She raised a brow in a credible imitation of his own expression when teaching. 

“Severus Prince Snape. Had anyone ever bothered to look at any of the registered paperwork.”

“But they didn’t.”

“No.”

“May I sit?” She waved at the chair in front of his desk.

There was part of him that wished to refuse her, to throw her out of his office, out of his business, and avoid Diagon Alley for the foreseeable future. But there was something oddly appealing in the fact that she had bothered to look at him as no one else had in all these years, to see who he really was. 

“Sit.” With a wave of his wand towards the door, he locked and warded it. Then he looked at her for a long moment in silence, before flicking the wand at himself. His hair grew darker; his nose grew larger. Nerves wanted to tremble, but he was long practiced in remaining steady under pressure, and so met her gaze.

“Hello, Severus,” she said again, more softly this time.

An uncontrollable shiver did run through him then, as he was addressed as himself for the first time in recent memory. He felt wrong-footed, despite having planned to reveal his identity to her this evening. That had been on his terms, though, and now feeling pressed into doing it on hers, he was unsure how to proceed. Gathering himself, he sighed softly. “Hermione….”

“It was your eyes, you know. You didn’t change them.”

“Glamouring the eyes frequently affects vision. Given the delicate nature of potions work, that was inadvisable.”

“No one looked you in the eye and wondered?”

“My interactions are highly limited. By design.”

“And I’ve gone and invited myself in and mucked that all up for you.” There was a playful tone in her voice, and she looked as if she did not regret anything at all.

“Unsurprising, given the history of you and your friends in my time teaching you.”

She laughed then, bright and ringing. It was enchanting. He suddenly found himself feeling much steadier and less apprehensive of where this was headed.

“You realize I’m not a fourteen-year-old troublemaker anymore.”

He couldn’t help but appraise her form under her robes, the way they curved around her. “You most definitely are not fourteen anymore.”

“Were we going to dinner, then?” That gentle smile seemed to be just for him, and he attempted to respond with a pale imitation of it, though his muscles struggled with the unfamiliar expression.

“If it is agreeable to you, I would like to prepare dinner for you at my home.”

Her smile widened like sunrise. “It’s very agreeable to me.”

Rising from the desk, he tucked his wand back into his robes, and remembered the salve he’d made for her. The glass jar seemed to glow as he offered it to her. “This is for your arm. It cannot remove the scar, but it will allow it to heal properly.”

Hermione rose and circled the desk to his side, carefully taking the jar from him. Her thumb brushed his palm as she did so, and he felt as if he’d been shocked. All her focus was on the ointment, however, unscrewing the top and examining it.

“Thank you.” 

“It will prove useful for many, I believe.” He had the patent paperwork ready to file, knowing it would be a specialty potion but one that would be ordered by St. Mungo’s. Hers was far from the only lingering curse wound in Britain. 

“You created this? Just these last few weeks?” Eyes widened in surprise, then her whole face softened and she stared down at the jar.

“This week. Testing has been limited but effective.”

“You--you tested this on yourself?” Clever witch. She was looking at him again with that too-knowing gaze.

“Yes.” He had no desire to elaborate, and was grateful when she left that declaration alone, and simply tucked the jar into her black leather bag.

“I will report back on how it works for me, then. I’m sure you’d like more information on that if you’re going to be making it for others.”

“It would be appreciated.” She was still standing close, close enough to smell the vanilla and bergamot notes of whatever she wore; it was lovely and subtle, and he took another breath of it before continuing, “Are you opposed to side-along apparition?”

“Oh!” She seemed startled by the shift in conversation, and by the offer. “Not with you, no.”

“My home is secret-kept.” He was willing to take her, wanted to take her there, but he was not quite ready to let her inside the all of his secrets.

She just nodded in apparent understanding, and asked no further questions. Instead, she held out one hand to him, without a second’s hesitation. Taking it, so small in his own, he thought for just a moment on where he’d like to arrive with her, then pulled her closer as he spun them both away with a gentle crack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm ending it there this week! I went back and forth several times on combining versus separating chapters 6 & 7, and ultimately broke it in two.


	8. Chapter 7 - October 26, 2012

Severus had debated only a split second between apparating to the front gate and the walled back garden. Though the front gate might give a better overall impression of the old sandstone farmhouse he now called home, the garden was more important to him. It had been the kitchen garden at one time, and while he still grew a few fruits and vegetables—he was quite fond of fresh tomatoes, and loved the ancient, espaliered apple trees—he’d warded it heavily and transformed most of it into a potions garden for himself. There was a small greenhouse in the corner between the two apple trees, for more delicate ingredients, as well as a row of cold frames in front of it. Pebbled paths led between neat, raised beds, where he was able to keep contaminatory interactions to a minimum. 

They arrived with a light crush of the stones underfoot, There was a second where she clutched her hand tightly to his, then stepped back to look at him with wide eyes.

“That was the smoothest side-along I’ve ever experienced.”

“Thank you.” He gestured towards the back door, the cobalt blue paint a contrast to the dark green leaves and a few straggling pink blossoms of the climbing rose taking over the wall beside it. The rose was a remnant of the original garden, one he couldn’t bear to rip out; plus, it provided potions ingredients, too, even if it was not the rose he would have chosen for that express purpose.

“You grow your own potions ingredients?” Rather than making her way to the door, she was taking in the plants around them. Wisely, with her eyes only, as a few of them could be rather volatile to the touch. Until she brushed her hand through a stand of lavender, releasing the heady scent into the early evening air and smiling disarmingly.

Clearing his throat, he answered, “Only for the potions I make here myself. The quantities we’d need at the shop are beyond my time and capacity to grow here.”

“Did you train in Herbology as well?” She cocked an eyebrow at him again, but finally began moving toward the door to the house. One hand rested on the pale limestone next to the rose trellis as she took a deep breath.

“Not officially, though I dearly wish I had. I learned much from Pomona Sprout in my time at Hogwarts, but as much of it has been by trial and error,” he informed her as he wandlessly and wordlessly dropped the wards on his home to permit her entrance.

“Herbology was never a favorite of mine, but your garden almost makes me wish I’d studied it more.” She followed him inside, and he had a flash of worry that he’d made a serious error, and her chatter would drive him mad. Yet he found he wanted to answer her, wanted to have a conversation about what he’d studied and how his garden grew.

He led her through a boot room, where he hung up his black cloak and her grey one, and she followed him further into the house. “It was not until after ending my teaching career that I began to grow my own ingredients. I was older then than you are now. It’s not too late to take up gardening if you desire to.”

There was a suspicious catch in her breath before she answered. “Much as I like the idea, I seem to have something of a brown thumb, unlike my mother. Perhaps it’s best I just enjoy the gardens others create.”

He had no answer for that, merely hummed a response as he led her into the kitchen. As most of the time it was staffed by Nella, and most of her work was done by magic, there were fewer appliances and less clutter than most kitchens. The island in the center was an unbroken expanse of granite worktop with a few seats along the side; it was where he ate most of the time, rarely bothering to use the dining room at all. He pulled out one of the seats and she sat without question, hopping up with a swish of her silvery grey skirt.

Turning around to the cupboards, he began pulling out ingredients and utensils, only to pull up short when he realized that he was ignoring her by doing this. “I am unaccustomed to company. Would you like wine?”

She nodded, and he retrieved the sauvignon blanc that Nella had put to chill, and opened it with a spell. But he poured it himself, first for her then for himself. Offering up a silent cheers, their glasses met gently before they each took a sip.

They studied one another for a few moments over their wine glasses, before her gaze shifted to take in the room, and he returned his own attention to meal preparations. He surprised himself by breaking the silence first. “I hope fish is acceptable? I noticed you’ve had fish and chips at the Leaky.”

“I don’t eat red meat, but fish is lovely.” She took another sip of the wine, and looked around the room again. “As is your home. Where are we?”

“Cornwall.”

“Quite a hop from London.”

“It is.” He glanced up at her, and resumed slicing the potatoes. 

“And quiet.”

“It is that, too.” This felt awkward, as their conversations in the pub had not been. He wanted to offer her more, to get that easy discussion going. “You have been in New York since the war ended?”

He wasn’t sure how much she’d want to talk about herself, but at least it was something to ask, and he wanted to better understand this adult Hermione Granger sitting before him now.

“Not immediately.” She bit her lip, then took a long drink of the wine. “I went to Australia directly after, to see my parents. I Obliviated them, before we went hunting the horcruxes.”

Setting his knife down, he took a long look at her eyes, which looked suddenly wistful. “You were not successful in restoring their memories?”

She twirled the stem of the wine glass between her fingers, shaking her head slowly. “I’d taken too much, altered too much. Mum’s a botany teacher and Dad’s a chemist for an environmental organization. They’re healthy and happy, nearing retirement, and have absolutely no memory of a daughter. I try to go down once a year, just stop by and make a donation to Dad’s organization, see him in passing there.”

“So there was nothing keeping you in Britain?” He wondered about the Weasley boy, about the certain offers of Ministry employment—-if they’d wanted him, they’d surely made her even better offers.

But she shook her head. “I came back long enough to sit my NEWTs and settle up the last of my parents’ accounts. The boys tried to convince me to train as an auror with them, but that was never where my interests ran. Harry seems to be doing well with it, but Ron didn’t even make it through training before dropping out to play quidditch. Which I also have no interest in. So no, nothing keeping me in Britain. I started my first apprenticeship with Abby just after the holidays, at the start of 1999.”

He refilled her wine glass, then popped the pan into the stove before refilling his own glass. “Thirteen years abroad. What brought you back?”

Sipping the wine, she considered his query. “New York is somewhere to go when you’re young, somewhere to figure out who you want to be. But it’s a difficult place to put down roots. I missed home.”

Humming an agreement, he began to clean up the countertop. He knew what she meant, in a way he hadn’t until he’d had a home that was truly his, a place he belonged and wanted to be. Even if it was at times lonely, to the point that he had briefly contemplated a familiar.

“What made you chose Cornwall? Or was this a family—“

He cut off her question with a bark of laughter, his throat making it sound harsher than he’d intended it to be. “No. I had a meager inheritance as the last of the Prince line, but that house made Grimmauld Place look like a paragon of cozy homemaking. I sold the property to fund starting my business, and purchased this house four years later, when the demands of Specialized Potion Solutions outstripped the house I had outside Manchester.”

“SPS. Severus Prince Snape. No one has noticed that? In a decade? I can’t be the only one who knows who you are.” 

“Kingsley and Minerva know. They’re why I have contracts with the Ministry and Hogwarts without too many questions asked.”

She nodded, then took another sip of the wine. “And no one else?”

“No.” 

Silence reigned for a long stretch, then she broke it, asking, “So Cornwall?”

“As you have noted, it is quiet and remote. The climate is good for growing a variety of potions ingredients. It was a cheap muggle farmhouse I could afford to renovate to suit my needs.” He shrugged. 

“You are not lonely out here, with no one knowing who you are?”

He let something like a smile form on his lips. “For many years, it was a respite from everything I had known before.”

“And now it is not.” It was not a question, and her eyes were soft, welcoming, inviting him to speak.

He found, for the first time he could remember, that he wanted to speak--to share--with someone. With her. “I was considering a cat last month.”

“I can bring mine over for you,” she smiled, somewhat wistfully.

“You cannot still have that orange menace from your Hogwarts days.”

Her expression turned sad, suddenly, and she stared down at her glass. “Crookshanks went to Australia with my parents. I can only assume he has passed, but I have no way of finding out. I got another half-kneazle a few years ago. Webber is still in New York with my friend Justin.”

“I see.” Of course, there was a  _ Justin. _ Who was keeping her cat. He turned his attention back to the oven, where the timer was counting down. After checking the fish, he looked back up at her. “You must miss him.”

She smiled, and it shocked him when his heart cracked a little. “I’m supposed to have a place of my own settled here til I go back next month, and bring him back with me. Unless Justin and Zak have completely spoiled him. He might refuse to leave them.”

Information clicked into place like tumblers in a lock, and he relaxed a bit, taking an easy breath. “You do not have an abode of your own here?”

“I’m staying at Luna Lovegood’s flat. She’s out of the country for six months, and said I was welcome to it. The decor is...not quite to my taste, but its comfortable and close to my offices, so I haven’t been doing a very good job of finding anything else.”

“I cannot imagine.” Having read the Lovegood girl’s essays, he had no desire to imagine how she would decorate a home--radish lamps and moonstone counters? “I would be happy to pass along my realtor’s information to you. He’s a muggleborn who works with both magical and muggle properties--he helped find both this house and my apothecary building.”

“I’d appreciate it. I’m not at all averse to a muggle property. I quite liked my muggle building in New York.”

Nodding, he agreed, “I’ll owl you his information tomorrow. Did you have a chance to see much of America outside of New York?”

Their conversation fell into an easy rhythm from there, as they discussed travels and what they’d learned from it. While he’d only been able to travel a bit during the summers between the wars, he’d taken advantage of the ease of wizarding travel in the years since. Even after he’d pulled their meal from the oven and served them, their conversation flowed easily as they ate. He hardly even noticed the slight soreness developing in his throat, as he spoke more in one evening than he had in years. 

When he summoned dessert, he realized the state of his throat, and wordlessly summoned a potion for that as well. He uncorked and downed the violet solution without thinking about it. It was only after placing it down beside the ramekin of chocolate mousse that he noticed the concerned look Hermione was casting in his direction. 

He let the potion work before answering the unasked query. “For my throat. It remains sensitive, and I am unused to speaking so much.”

“Oh, Severus, I’m so sorry. Don’t let me--”

“It is quite all right, Hermione. I am aware of my issues, and would not have spoken so long if I did not find it enjoyable and worthwhile.”

She practically beamed at him, then turned her attention to dessert. After a few bites of the mousse, she paused. “This is delicious.”

“Alas, I cannot take credit for the mousse. It is Nella’s doing.”

“Nella?” 

“My housekeeper. A house-elf,” he answered cautiously, aware that he might be opening a can of worms he’d not fully prepared for.

“You have a house-elf?” She’d put down her spoon and was staring at him, eyes hard.

“I  _ employ _ a house-elf.” At her raised brow--a fairly good imitation of his own--he continued, “She was...inherited with what little there was of the Prince family estate. I offered to retain her, at a salary, as my housekeeper.”

“You pay her?”

“Yes. She also has weekends and holidays off.”

“Oh. That’s--that’s quite unexpected.”

He sent the dessert dishes and silverware over to the sink and set it to washing.

“I wanted to be able to focus on my work. She allows me to do that. Well worth the expense.” It was no different to him than if he’d hired a human housekeeper; he just wanted to focus on his potions, and not have to worry about dinner if time ran away with him the lab. And Nella was far more discreet than any human housekeeper would be.

“I wish more wizards felt that way. As if the elves were any other employee.”

The grandfather clock in the hall struck then, sounding out the nine o’clock hour.

“Oh! It’s getting late, I didn’t mean to keep you--”

“It’s quite all right. I have enjoyed your company this evening.”

She smiled and looked to him with soft eyes. “I’ve enjoyed it as well.”

“Unless you’d care for tea or coffee?” 

With a shake of her head, she stood. “I’ll never get to sleep if I have coffee at this hour. Dinner was lovely, though, thank you. And my compliments to Nella.”

“I will pass them along. Please, allow me to escort you out to the garden. You can apparate from there.”

To his pleasant surprise, she took his offered arm as he escorted her back out to the boot room, and helped her with her cloak. It was chilly in the garden, and she stood close to him, radiating so much warmth. 

“Thank you for a lovely evening, Hermione.” 

“Thank you, Severus. It was good to see you again.” 

There was so much meaning behind her words, and that smile she graced him with. He did his best to return the smile as she stepped away and hesitated just a second before stepping into the turn of apparition. The crack of it echoed off the walls of the house and garden for just a moment, before the silence he’d become so accustomed to returned.

It had felt good to be seen by her, in ways that had surprised him. He gazed at the spot from which she’d apparated, the gentle swirl of the pea gravel where she’d spun away, for a moment, before returning to his quiet, empty house.


	9. Chapter 8 - November 14, 2012

For much of the morning following Hermione’s dinner at his home, he’d agonized more than was proper for a man of his age over how soon was too soon to owl her with the realtor’s information he’d mentioned. He’d forced himself down to the potions lab instead, and immersed himself in ingredient preparation. Only when he emerged for lunch did he jot off a note and send it along with Morse.

_ Hermione- _

_ Enclosed find the contact information for Mr. Gerald Chedderly. I believe he should be more than capable of finding a flat or home to your liking, as he was able to find a residence and offices to suit my very particular requirements with a minimum of difficulty. _

_ SPS _

A few days later, a response arrived, once again on the creamy paper and written in pen rather than quill.

_ SPS- _

_ Thanks very much for Mr. Chedderly’s card. He’s already lined up a few properties for me to look at this week. I’m hopeful that by next month, I’ll be furniture shopping for my own home, and making plans for Webber to join me.  
  
_ _ That is, if I survive that long. Do you remember Thomas Ballston, a Hufflepuff a few years ahead of me? He contracted with IT for a computer for his haberdashery office, and somehow managed to implode the thing and set his desk on fire as he was being shown how to work the mouse. The  _ mouse!  __ I’ve come to a new understanding of why you were so strict with students during Potions.  
  
__ Hope you are well. Will you be working at your shop again next Friday?

_ Hermione _

Thus began a near daily correspondence between the two of them. Admittedly she had much busier days than he, as she spent much of her time interacting with the wizarding public and thus had many more ridiculous stories with which to regale him than his fairly rote days of potions brewing, whose variances were subtle and hardly worthy of great recountings. Yet she seemed interested in what he did, interested in him. She began addressing her letters to “Dear S” by the end of the week, which nearly caused him to smile as he read it.

After a few letters back and forth, she asked if he might be interested in meeting her for coffee next week, when he dropped off his St. Mungo’s delivery. He didn’t even hesitate when he sent off his affirmative response, indicating that he would prefer to meet at the muggle shop around the corner from the Ministry, rather than the inferior wizarding establishment in Diagon Alley.

She’d agreed, and so they found themselves approaching the cafe from opposite directions on a dreary Wednesday morning. He’d eased his glamours a bit as he’d left the Ministry, letting the misty weather and his high collar do most of the concealment work. Hermione approached him looking ready for a day on the moors, in a green tweed pantsuit and a fluffy scarf which nearly enveloped her. 

Pausing, she peered at him for only a moment before breaking into a smile. “You look different yet again.”

He opened the door and gestured her inside the cozy shop. “I only dropped some of the glamours.”

“I meant that you appear to be wearing  _ blue _ .” She turned and winked at him over her shoulder at him as they made their way up to the bar to order. 

It took him a heartbeat to regain his bearings. “When people are looking for a man in unremitting black, a bit of navy or charcoal is enough to foil them, without wholly spoiling the effect.”

“Your cravat was sage.”

“Perfectly acceptable and muted.” He caught up with her, and turned his attention to the barista. “Large chai latte, please.”

Hermione looked appraisingly at him for a moment, before ordering her own medium Americano. 

“Have you been so corrupted by living over there?”

Laughing, she led the way to a nearby booth, and shook her head as she watched him settle across from her. “Did you think I got through two masteries while also working at the MUN without serious caffeine assistance?”

“You managed quite well at Hogwarts.”

“With a time turner!”

“You should have kept it.”

“I did keep it! Dumbledore never asked for it back,” she said, somewhat defiantly. That certainly wasn’t a negative point so far as he was concerned. “It was destroyed when the Snatchers took us.”

Drinks orders were called out, and Hermione popped up from the table. “I’ll go, so I can fix mine up. Do you need anything for yours?”

He rumbled a negative and watched her go, and then watched her with the coffee. She prepared her drink the way she’d worked in his potions classroom all those years before--efficient, methodical, and precise. He watched her add a sprinkle of sugar and a dollop of milk before returning with both their drinks. The scent of the chai reached him before the beverage did, and he took a deep breath, inhaling the spices along with the richness of her coffee.

When he opened his eyes, she was seated across from him again, smiling. How on earth could someone smile so much? He was certain he went months throughout his life without smiling. Now, though, he tried to return hers, letting his mouth tick up a bit and inhaling deeply of the drink again. It was almost pleasant, and he felt some color rise to his cheeks at being so foolish.

“I do love the scent of good chai,” she ventured, eyes flitting between his face and his mug.

“As do I.” Nodding, he took a careful sip of the frothy drink, savoring the cardamom and ginger. “I accustomed to making my own. It is a nice treat to have out.”

“Your own blend must be a treat, too.” 

“Perhaps it will serve as a housewarming gift for your new home. How goes the search?”

“Wonderfully!” She launched into an animated tale of the hunt for new lodgings, as he enjoyed his drink. Surely it was the chai latte causing the welling warmth within him as he listened. 

“But,” she concluded, “I think the semidetached will be just what I want. Though I might pester you for help maintaining the garden.”

“It would be assistance gladly rendered.” He was certain the warmth he felt inside must be reflected in his face, probably unfortunately so. Perhaps the glamour he’d left in place, that left him less than his usual pallid self, would aid in hiding it. She was staring at him, eyes so fixed on his that if he hadn’t known better he might have assumed she was attempting legilimency. But there was also something so deep and warm in her eyes, crinkling just at the corners as she smiled at him.

“That would be lovely, Severus.” Then she seemed to blush a bit herself, and looked away, fixed on her coffee cup for a few moments.

“Have you finished all your hiring?” He steered their conversation back into safer waters.

“Yes, and just in time. I ended up hiring both Beth and Izzy, since we’ve been getting far more requests than I’d initially anticipated. I remembered so much...mistrust of all things muggle when I was at Hogwarts. And now I’ve practically got half of the wizarding population begging me for a mobile that won’t combust the first time they wave a wand while using it.”

“I may have to get in the queue with them. From what you’ve shown me, it does seem like a good business move.”

“Would you really?” She was glowing like a sunbeam again, and nearly reached out a hand to touch his, only seeming to draw back at the last moment.

“Indeed I would. There might even be a way I can check the books without having to come into the office.” It might allow him to see more of her, without having to make excuses to come in to the apothecary. 

“Oh, Severus, there is! I’d be happy to set it up for you.”

“And I would be happy to have you do so. Should I owl your office tomorrow to schedule a consultation?”

“Don’t be daft. Come back to the office now, I’ve got a free hour or so. I can work something up for you.” She took a hearty swig of her coffee and pushed the mug away, seemingly ready to depart at that moment. He recognized the enthusiasm he remembered from her time as his student, but tempered with age and experience.

“Witch, allow me to finish my drink,” he smirked, and took a long sip. “Then I will accompany you back to your offices, if it is not too much trouble.” He was already sure he’d accompany her anywhere she asked him to go.

When they left the shop fifteen minutes later, the damp day had turned rainy. Rather than pulling out the muggle umbrella he expected her to produce, she tucked herself close into his side, which surprised him enough, until one hand closed around his bicep and his entire body tensed. It took concentrated effort to relax into her quite public grip on his arm, as she case a subtle  _ impervious _ around the two of them, her magic washing warm across him. 

Something long-chilled within him seemed to thaw and break loose at the gesture, and he could not help but study the barely-contained curls twisted across the top of her head as they made their way back to Diagon Alley. It was more, he acknowledged to himself, than mere gratitude for the girl who’d saved his life. This woman was that girl, but so much more than that, and, inexplicably, she seemed to enjoy his company. 

They traveled in comfortable silence back to her offices, and he gradually reinstated his glamours as they approached the wizarding area, so that he appeared once more as Rus Prince to anyone who might see them. While it might draw some attention, it would be nowhere near as remarkable to any observers as the sudden reappearance of Severus Snape with Hermione Granger on his arm. Indeed, they drew little notice, between their casual mien and the miserable weather, and arrived at her offices without delay.

Integrated Technology was on the second floor of a dark brick building, accessed by a surprisingly airy staircase. The interior was crisp and modern, decidedly more muggle in design than wizard, with clean lines and white surfaces with silver accents, and a few potted plants. He liked the decor very much, which he did not expect, given its brightness. But it was very much a design scheme he could see integrating into a laboratory next time he set one up. 

Hermione led him through the half-dozen employees working at various tables with pieces of equipment he didn’t recognize, and into a glass-walled office. A flick of her wand set the walls to a rippling opacity, as if mist was trapped in the glass; it was a lovely bit of spellwork. There was a twinkle in her eye as she caught him looking at it, as she settled behind her desk, and gestured to a seat in front of it that looked like it would surely be uncomfortable. He eased himself down into it, and found that it seemed to suit him quite well, almost conforming to his body as he sat more normally.

“So what can I do for Specialized Potion Solutions, Rus?” She opened a slim, silver device, and tapped on a few buttons on it while speaking to him. The device emitted a few gentle tones, and she seemed to operate it effortlessly. An expectant look crossed her face, suddenly all business.

“Well,” he began slowly, trying to think on what he knew of muggle technology. “I’d like to be able communicate instantly, without the need for owls and floo. Access to a list of order requests to be filled, with the ability to delineate between my more advanced brews and the standard orders being filled by the shop brewers. The access for myself and Miss Rushcliffe, my office manager, to the books.”

“Mmm, all easy enough,” said Hermione as she tapped away at the keyboard. “Any interest in the ability to take orders online?”

His brow furrowed as he tried to puzzle out exactly what she meant. “Non owl orders?”

“Electronic orders,” she clarified.

“If it prevents me from wasting time deciphering the chicken scratch that passes for most handwriting, I would gladly accept them. Though I’m unsure how that would work.”

“That’s what you have me for.” She paused in her typing and looked up at him with a smile. “Part of the setup includes training you, and presumably your office manager, in how to operate everything.”

He nodded; instructions would be required and welcome. “Yes, we will both need training, I believe.”

“Have you ever used a computer, Severus?”

“On a whim several years ago, I purchased one. I put the same spellwork on it as the television and refrigerator, which operate in my home. However, it barely powered on before it incinerated. The strength of the wards around my home are part of the problem, I believe.”

She laughed at that, sitting back from her own computer and looking at him with--affection? 

“Strength of magical ability, as well as strength of surrounding spellwork, can definitely cause varying levels of meltdown, if not properly accounted for. You may be the most powerful wizard I’ve set anything up for, so it should be a good challenge.” She looked almost pleased at the idea.

“And will that cost me more?” Nothing so vulgar as money had been mentioned so far, but surely even a friend would not do this for free, nor would he allow her to even if she offered. This was business, for both of them.

“Nope! There’s a standard fee for magical acclimatization. Anything going in an a shared office, for example, also needs strong charmwork, since there are multiple magical users around it. I have a rate sheet here…” Digging into a desk drawer at her side, she pulled out a pre-printed parchment and a muggle biro, and assessed it for a moment. Then she circled a few items, wrote something at the bottom, and slid it across the desk to him.

Quickly, he skimmed down the list of circled items--equipment package, programming, installation, setup, training--and noted that the top fee, for Consultation & Creation, had not been included in the rather reasonable total. “No creation charge?”

“Never for friends.” She was already pulling out another sheaf of parchment. “If it’s to your liking, here is the initial contract, and we can schedule another meeting for next week to see if what I have in mind will work for you. And perhaps we can get lunch as well?”

“That--” He swallowed, trying to make sense of the odd fluttering in his gut. There had been little experience in combining business and pleasure, for there had been very little opportunity for pleasure. “That would be acceptable.”

She slid the scroll containing the contract across to him, along with a quill and ink pot she’d conjured from somewhere. He took his time reading through it, taking in what information she required of his business and what he might expect from her, and she put up no fuss about it. Only after he’d fully read the fairly standard agreement did he sign it, and rise, offering her his hand. Standing, she took it with a firm grip and a smile. 

A frisson of something ran through him at the touch of her hand on his. He had to close his eyes and put up a bit of the occlumency shields he rarely bothered with anymore, to allow himself to refocus on business and not the soft skin of her delicate hand.

“I’ll owl you later with the information you’ll need to get started, and days that might work around my brewing schedule next week.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

He glanced out the window and began to make his way to the door. 

“It’s still pouring, Severus. I’ll lift the wards, you can apparate from here.” She twirled her wand through a complex series of movements, then he felt the wards on the office ease around him. 

“Thank you, Hermione. Until next week.” With a nod and a sharp turn, he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work continues apace on this. I'm mid-chapter 22 right now, with rough plans for the final chapters in the works. 
> 
> Thank you again for reading!


	10. Chapter 9 - November 16, 2012

Severus intended to get the information Hermione needed together the next day, as well as owl Miss Rushcliffe about the plan. He needed to gather a lot of statistics about the business he knew, but had never put together to analyze before. It shouldn’t have taken him long to do, but the week’s workload reminded him why he needed something to help keep track of exactly how much business he was actually doing, and make it easier. Not only did he lack the inclination to that end of the business, he lacked the time as well. His efforts were much better spent in his lab, brewing and putting his own touches on potions for maximum efficacy.

The busy month he’d been experiencing continued, as a wave of early influenza cases sent potion demands soaring. St. Mungo’s and Hogwarts both depleted Specialized Potion Solutions’ stocks, and their requests had him handling remedies himself at home as well as offering overtime hours to his brewing staff at the apothecary. It was Friday evening, well past dinner hour, as he was sitting down at his desk with a glass of wine to write up his notes for the week, that he realized that he had not sent any information along to Hermione. 

With a sigh, he pulled out a clean sheet of parchment and his favorite eagle feather quill, and began to write. He knew most of the information she needed off the top of his head--numbers of owls back and forth each week, number of orders per week, number of standing orders, ingredient refill orders per month, number of staff, man hours spent on the books, numbers of sales per diem and per month. That end of things was straightforward enough.

It was the other things that had to be worked around. Certain ingredients had their own magical signatures that could interfere with electronics, especially when they also had to be charmed. Most complex was the wards he had in place on both the store itself, the offices and laboratory, and most complicated, on his office, home, and lab. He wrote rough descriptions of those, but knew that she, or someone from her company, would have to work with them in person. It would not do for anyone, even her, to know too much about exactly how his properties were protected.

All told, he’d filled nearly three feet of parchment with information before laying down his quill and blotting the page. He didn’t allow himself to cast tempus before shrinking the parchment to a manageable size and sending it off with Morse. Only then did he look about, realize his wine was long finished and the hour was approaching midnight. 

A wave of his wand refilled his glass as he moved from his desk to the more comfortable wing chair by the fireplace, still burning low and warm. Nella was good about keeping the house warm for him, as he’d found following his recovery from the snake all those years ago, that he chilled more easily than he had. Or perhaps that was another effect of the cruciatus cruses he’d been subjected to over the years. Both damaged the nerves, yet also seemed to make them more sensitive, which had almost become an asset when working with delicate potions ingredients, but made him quite particular about his living conditions. Yet another reason he was pleased to no longer be at Hogwarts, living in the damp, chilly dungeons.

Only then, settled in his chair with another glass of wine, did he allow himself to contemplate Mistress Granger herself. He should have been curious about what became of her if for no other reason than that the girl had saved his life. But now, seeing her again as an adult, she’d become a puzzle--a young woman who’d disappeared from wizarding Britain and appeared on a bar stool in The Leaky Cauldron an accomplished, lovely witch. 

Yet there had been no mention of her in the press; against his best wishes the media had informed him of Potter’s career at the Aurory, Weasley’s mediocre quidditch career and more successful second career in coaching the sport, the other Weasely becoming Mrs. Potter and having a successful quidditch career of her own, even Longbottom’s apprenticeship and teaching career in Herbology and Draco Malfoy’s inheritance of Malfoy Industries. He might avoid seeing all of them personally, but in keeping up with the news of the day, and the occasional owl from Minerva, he’d had no choice but to read what they were up to, with nary a word about Hermione Granger. 

Not that he’d noticed at the time.

But now, he found it curious. She’d disappeared nearly as well as he had, even absent from her former Head of House’s overlong correspondence.

Was that part of her almost immediate appeal to him? That, too, was almost a novelty to him. Since beginning to live as Rus Prince, he’d had a few brief flings, but had put aside any thought of a deeper relationship, as so much was predicated on him not being who he seemed to be. Granger had seen right through to who he was, and still seemed interested in him, as a friend if nothing else. 

It was an unexpected delight, he found, to have someone he could converse with fully as himself. He had not been one for long conversations before the war, as he’d had too much to hide, and his voice made it difficult at best now. But he found himself unexpectedly enjoying it with her. The enjoyment seemed to be mutual as well, if her bright smiles were anything to judge by. 

And despite their relative positions fifteen years ago at Hogwarts, she was now a thirty-something witch with two masteries and her own successful business. By anyone’s standards, she was his equal, if not his better. Certainly in his own eyes, she was superior to him in every way.

The fleeting thought of some ulterior motive had passed through his mind, but he realized that she’d never been good at guile, and she’d cut him a deal on their business transaction, which left him without any idea what an ulterior motive might involve.

He ruminated on his own motivations as he sipped the last half of his wine. Part of him was, frankly, rather distressed at the idea of being attracted to a former student. He’d known her as a child of eleven, watched her grow up, watched as her and her foolish friends nearly lost their lives to save the world. But he’d had no attraction to her at all then; his reference to her as an obnoxious know-it-all hadn’t been any acting on his part, much as he had had to act more harshly than he’d have liked with most of his students. Even after she’d saved his life, he’d have been hard-pressed to admit anything more complex than a positive sentiment towards the girl.

But she was clearly no longer a  _ girl. _ Over a decade had passed since he’d taught her, or any other student. He would have been content to admire her physical form in The Leaky Cauldron, gather his meal, and floo away without interacting with her again. She had been the one to contact him, albeit without knowing precisely who he was. 

He pondered the ethics of it all as he banished the empty glass to the kitchen sink and took him self upstairs to bed. Shedding his brewing clothes for soft grey cotton pyjamas, he made his way into the master bath and began his nightly ablutions. By the time he folded down the blankets and climbed into bed, he’d admitted that he was attracted to the witch beyond mere friendship, and decided that to the extent she indicated an openness to furtherance of their rapport beyond business associates, he would welcome it.

But, as he wandlessly turned off the lights in the room, he knew that he’d never had any luck in romance. He didn’t even like the word. At this point in his life, he would be happy enough with a friend who knew who he was, and accepted him for it. Hermione Granger, if nothing else, seemed to be that.

It was more than he’d ever expected out of a personal life, especially after the war. It was a pleasant shock to have any life at all, let alone a life as a free man. He had been resigned to his solitude, made his peace with it and was content with mere survival, taking anything beyond that as a bonus. He’d thought a successful business to be enough of a bonus; friendship or more than that had been beyond his thoughts, having little experience with it in his life anyway.

As he drifted off to sleep, it was a vision of Hermione in his garden that filled his mind, picking apples off the old espaliered tree. 

  
  
  


He’d just sat down to his lunch the next afternoon—early today, but the potion he was working on needed to rest for eighty-two minutes, then would require an additional two hours of intensive work, so he took his breaks when he could—when the tawny owl that he’d come to recognize as Hermione’s arrived at his window. He was on his feet and letting it into the kitchen before it even had a chance to tap on the glass. As he ruffled the feathers on top of its head, a leg was proffered, with a scroll attached. He treated the bird and sent it on its way before resizing the shrunken parchment and settling in to read it while he ate his soup.

_ Dear S- _

_ Thank you for your extensive data set about SPS. I’ll be personally overseeing the project, with an assist from my programmer, Oswin. You can meet him this week if you’d like. Looking at the schedule you gave me for this week, and comparing it to our office, would Thursday at 1400 work for you? It should take about an hour, perhaps a bit longer if you want a basic tutorial on the standard computer we have in-house. It wouldn’t have all the specifications you need, but if would get you started. _

_ We could get tea after if you’d like. You’d be my last appointment of the day. _

_ -Hermione _

As he ate, he read the letter twice, then set it aside as he cleaned up his lunch. Tucking the letter into his robes, he checked the time--thirty-eight minutes left for the potion--then made his way into his office. Summoning quill and parchment, he sat at the sturdy oak desk and wrote.

_ Hermione- _

_ Thursday at 1400 is acceptable, barring any emergency brewing that arises. Should that be the case, I will inform you immediately.  _

_ That goes for tea as well; joining you would be agreeable, barring an emergency. _

_ -SPS _

He nearly signed it ‘Severus’ but couldn’t quite bring himself to do it; he still worried that someone else might see it, might realize who he really was. Initials could merely be the business, so he let that suffice and blotted the letter. Morse was waiting, and he sent the owl off with the note.

He checked the time--twenty-three minutes left on the potion’s rest period--and returned to work in his lab to begin preparations for the next step. Only years of practice and focus allowed him to keep his mind on his work, and not his delight at her invitation to tea.


	11. Chapter 10 - November 22, 2012

Diagon Alley was unusually busy as he stepped out of The Leaky Cauldron and made his way to Integrated Technology. He cast a simple Notice-Me-Not as he walked, skimming the edge of the crowds, who were presumably taking advantage of the fine weather to begin their holiday shopping--witches laden with bags and parcels seemed to be everywhere. It was a relief when he ducked into the doorway and made his way up the stairs.

It was not Hermione who answered his knock, though, but a goblin. Who did not look like the goblins Severus had met at Gringott’s, or at a few potions conferences. This goblin was dressed like a muggle, in dark denims and red trainers and a purple plaid shirt, with a gold earring sparkling at the end of his pointy ear. Had he been less practiced in not reacting, his eyes might have goggled. Being used to appearing unsurprised as he was, he remained silent and stony-faced.

“Master Prince?” asked the goblin.

“Yes,” he growled.

“I’m Oswin. Come with me, I’ll get you started on some computer basics while Hermione is finishing up her call with New York.” The young man waved him along, and they headed into the offices.

So this was the goblin programmer. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it wasn’t this. Nor was he feeling wholly comfortable as the goblin gestured at red stool, as he settled onto one of his own. But Severus sat, feeling rather unbalanced by the entire situation. 

“Do you have much computer experience, Master Prince?” Oswin waved at the shiny device on the desk before them.

“None. I tried, once, but without the right spellwork….” he trailed off, unwilling to share with this stranger just  _ how _ badly it had gone.

“Yeah,” laughed Oswin, “happens all the time, unfortunately. But we’re taking care of that, because the magical community is decades behind everyone else in terms of technology now, where we used to be the leaders. So. You turn it on with the round button on the upper right, with the ‘power’ symbol on it.” He pointed, and Severus allowed himself to be directed.

The goblin was a good teacher, and he had always been a quick study. In no time, he was setting up email, searching for information on the internet, and becoming comfortable with typing on the keyboard. He’d rather lost track of time and become absorbed in the computer when a warm hand on his shoulder froze him mid-keystroke.

“Master Prince!” Her voice held far too much affection and enthusiasm for a mere business acquaintance, surely. It sounded as if she was greeting a dear old friend.

“Mistress Granger,” he greeted, taking a breath again, and allowing the corners of his lips to curl up slightly.

“Hermione, please. I’ll take over from here, Oswin, thank you!”

“Later, Prince. It’s been a pleasure.” The goblin disappeared with a jaunty salute, certainly more friendly and more relaxed than any other goblin he’d ever met. 

“How are you doing?” Her eyes flitted between his and the computer screen, where he’d been practicing typing the uses of dragon blood. 

“Well. Oswin is an adequate instructor.”

She laughed, and tugged a bit at his sleeve, directing him to stand. “Oswin teaching someone how to type is like you teaching first year potions. Come with me, if you’re finished, and I’ll show you what we’re working on for Specialized Potion Solutions.”

Rather than to her office, as he expected, she directed him into a conference room, sleek black table and leather and chrome chairs, and a large display screen occupying nearly an entire wall. As she sat, she waved at the entryway, and as with her office, the glass wall smoked over, and he felt an silencing ward fall around the room. He stood admiring her magic for a second, before remembering himself and taking a seat himself.

The presentation and summary Hermione had prepared on the systems her team could create for him were impressive indeed. He’d known of computers, but had been unaware of just how integrated they’d become in muggle life, and how much simpler they could make things, even for those with magic. What she could allow him to do with computers would make it so much easier to run his business without ever having to come into Diagon Alley.

Though that thought gave him pause, for if he had no cause to come in to the apothecary, what cause would he have to meet her for dinner or tea? He would have to be honest with her—and with himself—about why he wanted to meet with her. Helpful though it might be, it was not computer technology.

“How quickly would this all be created?” He looked over the slide on the screen, outlining the programs his work would require.

“Not long, most of these are standard business software suites, we just put in a few tweaks and specifications to whatever a company needs. Three weeks, tops. You’ll have this before Christmas, and with training as we go, should have you up and running in the new year. That’s usually a good time to switch over systems, since there’s a lull after the holiday.” She looked so no-nonsense, serious eyes assessing the information in front of them, all of the ridiculous girlish overeagerness gone and only efficient industriousness left.

“That would suit us well.” He nodded and marked out three weeks in his mental calendar. 

Three weeks to sort out what this seemed to be between them, where she set up a business meeting and invited him out for tea in the same letter. Where she’d already accepted an impulsive dinner invitation to his home, and seemed well pleased with it. As he sat next to her, he could not help but hope, for once in his life, that something good would come his way and he would manage not to ruin it.

“Excellent! Let me go chat with Oswin for a few, and let him know we’re good to go, and we can head out for tea. The place from last week all right with you?”

“Yes.” He let himself smile, not even surprised at the expression alighting on his lips of its own accord.

It was returned in megawatt form by Hermione, who practically skipped out of the room. While she was out, he pondered his attire; wizarding robes, subtle though his were, would not do for a muggle establishment. It did not take much magic to transform charcoal robes into a charcoal suit and waistcoat, but leaving the silvery cravat covering his throat. He would let the glamours fade as they walked the muggle streets, away from those who might recognize him.

Hermione was still smiling when she returned with a black pea coat and blue silky scarf that she was carefully wrapping around her neck. “I should take lessons in this from you!”

He watched her twisting it around herself and let a faint smile return to his lips as his hand went to the knotted cravat. “It is too much effort for something you’re only taking off again ten minutes later.”

“You could take that off in ten minutes, too. Come on,” she said, near flirtatious, and catching his arm as they made their way out of the office.

He first reaction was to pull away from her, from such a display in front of her employees. But she had initiated the overture, so he allowed it, appreciating the feel of her fingers wrapping around his bicep. As they made their way to the coffee shop they’d been to the week prior, he allowed his glamours to fade, as he’d put them into place previously. Til they reached the shop, he was himself again, and she was still holding his arm. He took a deep breath as he opened the door for her, and only then did she let go of him.

She ordered their drinks, then joined him at a small table in the far corner. “Hiding?” she asked as she settled across from him and slide the chai latte in his direction, steam wafting behind it.

“Constantly.” His fingers just brushed hers as he took control of the massive mug, and he could feel her eyes on him, though his own gaze remained on the beverage.

“But not from me.” Her thumb tapped against his, just once, before her hand slid away.

“You saw through the glamours as no one else has. Hiding was no longer required.”

She sat back with her own drink, studying him quietly, as he took a tentative sip of his own. Still too hot, he placed it back down on the table and finally met her gaze. He could see her working to form further questions, but he preempted her.

“How is the house hunting?”

“Oh!” Her brows raised and she took a bit drink of the coffee before setting it down on the table and focusing on him. “I thought for sure I’d written to you about it! I signed a contract on a place the end of last week, in Richmond. It’s the two bedroom semi-detached with a small garden. I think the master bedroom is bigger than my entire apartment was in New York.”

“An interesting choice.” He’d expected her to find a flat in London proper, somewhere hip and bustling. Though it was still a long way from Cornwall.

“I know!” she laughed. “Not where I expected to find something, either. But it’s close enough to London that I can blend in and be just another commuter, like in New York, and it’s close to all the conveniences. But it’s quieter, and I can get away from everything a bit.”

“Muggle, then?”

She picked the coffee cup back up, and took another sip. “Yes. Everyone else has though that odd.”

“Why?” Who was ‘everyone else’? He took another exploratory sip of his chai latte, and deemed it a drinkable temperature.

“Mostly because they’re all so used to living within an insular magic community. Even Harry, who grew up muggle, hardly even does things like take his kids to see movies.” She shrugged. “It seems odd to me to isolate yourself that way, when both have so much to offer. I like that I can walk to a cinema and there’s a farmer’s market nearby on the weekends.”

“It sounds perfect for you.”

That beaming smile sent something warm straight into his internal organs. “I think it will be. At least to start. It’s a six month lease.”

“Long enough to get your business established.”

“Exactly!” She reached across and grabbed his hand, startling him. Both froze, staring at the other. Eventually, he moved first, shifting his own hand just enough to be able to hold hers properly, and attempted to return her smile. It was returned in spades, and she gave his hand a little squeeze.

He’d taken a step, one that appeared to be welcome, something both of them wanted. But he had no idea how to proceed; he only knew that he did not want to let go of her hand. Eventually, he cleared his throat, and the spell seemed to break, and time flowed normally around them again.

“Wh--when do you move?”

She blinked, then nodded. “It’s mine beginning December first.”

“Will you be returning to New York to retrieve your familiar then?”

“I have to go back for a week anyway, and do some work at the office there. So I’ll come back that weekend and move in. I will be bringing Webber back with me, too.”

“You will appreciate having your own space again.” 

“Yes, I will. And my own furniture and my books and my cat.”

“You’ve been without your books?” He raised his brows and sat up straighter, nearly tugging her across the table, reluctant as he was to let go of her now.

“Not without all of them!” She was laughing, squeezing his hand before releasing him, and continuing to gesticulate, nearly sloshing her coffee out of its mug. “I bought a few boxes with me, but I’ve missed having all of them. And Circe, my own bed!”

The vision of her in his bed, entangled in his sheets, suddenly filled his mind, and he had to blink to clear the vision. She was looking at him curiously, but met his smile with one of her own when he made the attempt. “If you need any assistance getting settled…”

“I believe an offer of some chai was made.”

His smile then felt easy. “It was.”

“If you’re available, you could stop by for some tea next Sunday, and help make sure my books are all properly organized.”

“I doubt you will require my assistance on that front. But I would enjoy coming by for tea.” Not in the place for two days, and already inviting him to stop by seemed an invitation he couldn’t decline, not that he’d wanted to. 

“Lovely.” Focus returned to her own mug, although he could feel her watching him, too. 

They finished their drinks in companionable quiet. Only when they’d both finished their drinks did either speak again. 

“When do you leave for New York, then?”

“Saturday evening. I have a portkey that will put me in at noon New York time.”

He offered her his hand as he stood, and she took the offered assistance as she rose from the table as well.

“I get back the following Saturday afternoon. I’ll owl the address.”

“That does not give you much time to get settled.”

“I’m an efficient packer. There won’t be much to do, really.”

The woman would be exhausted until he arrived for tea on Sunday. “If you’re certain that you’ll be ready to receive company by Sunday.”

“You’re not company!” She turned to face him, still holding his hand, practically pulling him towards her and nearly blocking the entrance to the coffee shop. “You’re...a friend.” 

“Is that what I am?” His voice was almost as soft as hers had been, barely more than a raspy whisper.

“I’ve wondered myself.” She was staring up at him, as if waiting for something. Time seemed to slow again, as he stared back at her. Resolve coalesced in her eyes for a moment, but then she seemed to hesitate. “I’ll see you next weekend, Severus.”

Then she was gone, just the lingering scent of her and the warmth still in his hand, and only a soft pop from around the corner of the shop to give any credence to the fact that she had just been here holding his hand for half their tea.

He stood still as a statue for the three heartbeats it took for him to come to his senses. Then he followed her path around the corner, and apparated back home, full of the knowledge that the next week would feel like an eternity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad you're all still enjoying this! I'm still writing, but that's almost done--I've just got one chapter and an epilogue to write, and then it's all revision and editing.


	12. Chapter 11 - December 2, 2012

The address that her owl delivered had been carefully tucked into Severus’ desk drawer all week, a beacon of hope as he carefully checked its location each night as he reached in for a quill to write up the day’s notes. It had been, as he’d expected, a slow week. Unlike most businesses, potions tended to be relatively quiet in the leadup to the holidays. The only production they needed to increase was SoberUp and Headache Relief, both of which were taken care of by the brewers at the apothecary. It was a time of year he usually eagerly anticipated, since it freed him up to spend more of his time on research.

And indeed, he had managed to spend three entire days that week working on research without interruption from any additional orders. It had been bliss to immense himself fully in work he wanted to conduct, from refining even further the cursed scar potion he’d created for Hermione’s wounds, to work on ingredient preparation. After a few test batches of potions, he had the beginnings of a paper on macerated mint solubility.

It was as he was looking over his personal ingredient stores to see how much spearmint and peppermint he needed to order, that his eyes passed over the peppercorns, and remembered that he still needed to mix up a batch of chai for Hermione. Not from these ingredients, of course, but from the pantry stores. He had no idea what the state of those was, and after jotting down a note about the mint levels, he headed upstairs, in a beeline for the storage just off the kitchen. 

Such things were usually left to Nella, and he was not at all surprised to find that all the necessary ingredients were well-provisioned. A few waves of his wand sent them flying into the kitchen on their own, and he passed an enjoyable hour preparing enough chai to replenish his personal stash as well as set her up for a good winter supply of spiced tea. 

He’d also pondered over whether more than a simple tin of tea was necessary--or appropriate--as a housewarming gift. Certainly, she had been living on her own in New York for years and should be well kitted out, but he remembered her comments about how much more spacious this new home was, and how it included a garden. Recalling her reaction to his own garden, he found himself standing in the middle of his greenhouse, taking in the riot of vegetation he’d put up for the winter. Finally, his eye alighted on the simple terra cotta pots of rosemary he’d lined up against the far wall. It was a forgiving plant, and useful in both cookery and potions. He selected the most aesthetically pleasing specimen, and brought it back to the house with him.

When he prepared to apparate to near Hermione’s new address on Sunday afternoon, he found himself armed with fragrant gifts, shrunken and tucked into a pocket, and carefully embraced in his left arm, as live plants did not handle being reduced well. The rosemary hardly wobbled as he landed, though he worried the plant might not enjoy the brisk December day as he made the walk down Swan Street to the address he sought. Fortunately, it was a sunny day and a short walk; the red brick structure at the end of the block was only a few steps off the street.

Though he tried to be subtle, the echo of his knocking rattled into the house, and it was not long before there was a bit of a clamor inside and the door swung open. Hermione was attired far differently than he’d grown used to seeing her, having traded out professional wool crepe and tweeds for a soft-looking blue jumper and faded denims. She looked younger like this, closer to the girl that was his student than the woman he’d found himself smitten with, and it gave him pause; he stood in the doorway, practically gawking at her.

“Severus!” Her exclamation and smile drew him out of his momentary confusion, and he did his best to return her smile.

“Hermione. Congratulations on your new home.” He offered the pot of rosemary in her direction. Rather than taking it, however, she took his elbow and pulled him off the stoop and into the hallway, pushing the door closed with a wave of magic. 

“Thank you. Come in and have some tea with me. I’ve been working all morning on getting everything sorted and am more than ready for a break.” She let go of his arm as they walked, but he stayed close behind her as she led him back the hall to a kitchen-diner with an adjoining small conservatory. 

He cleared his throat, taking in the clean, bright space. “This would do well here.” He waved the pot toward the warm, glass-enclosed space next to the kitchen, settling it at the center of the breakfast table. 

“You may have to come check on it. I haven’t much luck with house plants.”

The idea that she would want him to come here again, even if merely to check on the rosemary, delighted him. After their last meeting, he was feeling assured that she wanted this to move in the same direction he did. So he followed her past the conservatory, into the kitchen, white and steel and modern as her office had been. 

She set the kettle to boil, flipping on the burner without magic, then began setting out the tea tray.

“I brought you this as well,” he interrupted her preparations before she could scoop the Earl Grey into the pot, and offered her the tin he’d shrunken down and tucked into his robes. A tap of his wand returned it to size, before handing it over to her. She wrapped her fingers around his as she took it, and squeezed gently before taking the tin.

When she opened it, the aroma of cardamom and pepper wafted through the kitchen. 

“Oh, this smells divine. Your own blend?” Her eyes were shut as she inhaled deeply, looking almost rapturous. 

“It is.” 

“I can’t wait to try it.” With that, she scooped it into the waiting tea pot, inhaling again as she did so. He couldn't help but do the same--after all, he’d created the blend to his own liking. 

“Things went smoothly in New York?”

“They did. Everything is squared away at the office there, and I shouldn’t need to return until mid-year. And I got everything back with me in one trip. I’d forgotten how much space my books take up, plus I made a few more purchases before coming back. They had brilliant holiday sales going on, it was just too difficult to pass them up. I may need to figure out where to place a few more shelves.”

The kettle whistled, and she summoned it to her with a silent spell, pouring the boiling water over the spicy tea and releasing even more aroma. Both of them breathed deeply and were smiling at one another as they exhaled. Levitating the tea tray, she led the way over to the table in the conservatory, and the settled down in the watery December sun. 

He spent more time outside than he used to, enjoying mornings in his garden, and had come to appreciate the feel of the sun on his skin. Especially now in winter, when he was outside less, and missed it. Closing his eyes, he savored it for a moment: it was immensely comfortable, this warmth, with the scent of the chai and the quiet clatter of porcelain. His eyes startled open at the feel of something warm twining around his ankles.

“Your familiar?” A pair of vivid yellow eyes gazed up at him, from a feline whose dark form nearly blended in with his black pants.

“Yes. Webber,” she said, peering around the table and down at the cat. “I hadn’t seen him since we arrived yesterday. He usually doesn’t take to new places, or new people, well.”

“Obviously.” 

Laughing, she shook her head. “Truly, he’s usually awful with new people--he apparently tried to attack Zak every day for the first fortnight he was staying with him and Justin. And he’s been hiding since we arrived yesterday afternoon.”

The half-kneazle ceased his marking of his ankles and settled onto his foot, curling up to nearly cover his boot with a long, fluffy tail. He could only shake his head, and take another sip of tea, thinking of his own earlier consideration of a familiar of his own. Perhaps it was not such a bad idea. 

“You’ve both settled in now.”

“Now that you’ve arrived.” She regarded him over the gold rim of her teacup, eyes sparkling.

“Is that it?” He couldn’t tear his eyes from hers.

“In case you’ve failed to notice, I like having you in my life, Severus.” She managed to precisely replace her teacup on the saucer without ever breaking eye contact.

It was he who finally looked away, down at his own cup and clearing his suddenly parched throat. “I’m appreciative of our reacquaintance--”

“Don’t be disingenuous.”

Revealing his physical self had been difficult, but sharing his sentiments was something with which he was almost wholly unfamiliar, after a lifetime spent guarding them. But he knew it could be cathartic in the same way having her see him had been. “Seeing you has been the highlight of my weeks this fall.”

“It’s been the highlight of mine as well,” she replied, her bright smile returning, warming him more than the weak winter sun.

“You would like something more formal, then, than letters and sporadic meetings for coffee.” It wasn’t a question, certainly not in his mind. It was what he wanted.

“Yes, I would.”

“With Rus Prince or with Severus Snape?” That would be the sticking point.

Hermione studied him with pursed lips, considering her words. “Is there much difference?”

He got no further than a vague noise of protest before she cut him off again.

“I don’t mean physically, or the face you present publicly. I mean here, now, just us, does it matter?

That gave him pause. Severus Snape was someone with a regrettable history, and still reviled by some in the wizarding community. He’d thought of Rus Prince as the person he might have become had he never joined the Death Eaters--a serious Potions Master, respected and successful, but aloof. Privately, though, and at a fundamental level…. “I do not think it matters much here and now. But should this progress between us as we both hope it to, there is the rest of the world to consider.”

“Well,” she said with a wry smile, “I’ve managed to seriously irk the governments of at least 82 different countries. I can’t imagine being out to dinner with Severus Snape would be more challenging. At least now I can tell them to go fuck themselves rather than having to be politic about it.”

Serious as their conversation had been up to this point, he couldn’t help himself--he threw his head back and laughed. It had probably been years since he’d laughed so unreservedly at something. When he could catch his breath and open his eyes, she’d been laughing, too, as genuinely as his own. He captured her hand in his, giving it a light squeeze, which she returned. 

“I’ve been doing so, first as Severus then as Rus, for long enough now that no one will be surprised by such a response from me.”

“Just by your face.” Her eyes were locked on his face, full of affection.

He sighed. “I am comfortable being Severus with you. But not with everyone, or everywhere.”

She held his gaze, then dropped her head, nodding. “That’s fair.”

“That’s not negotiable.” He felt the icy reserve he’d held himself in for the last decade of his life creeping back in to place. Spine straightening of its own accord, he drew into himself, away from her. The cat rose from his feet and turned to look at him, tail curling up around his calf. 

“I don’t want to force you to be someone you don’t want to be,” she almost whispered, catching his fingers again, before continuing more confidently, “But I don’t like that you feel you have to hide yourself away from the world.”

With effort, he let the mask that had automatically gone into place slide from his face as he thought over her words. “I do not feel that I’m hiding myself, in any sense except the physical. Rus Prince is doing what I wanted to do with my life. Independent of any of the complications of being Severus Snape.”

There were people still, many years and a very public trial later, who wanted to see him dead or in Azkaban for what he’d done. To Dumbledore, as Headmaster, under cover as a Death Eater. Then there were those who’d nominated him for an Order of Merlin that he’d left unclaimed, who’d patronize his business or attempt to seduce him just because they thought him a romantic, Byronic hero. He wanted none of that; he just wanted a quiet, peaceful life as a potioneer.

She was nodding again, and the edge of her tongue crept out to lick her lips. Letting go of his hand, she reached for the teapot and refilled both their cups. “I understand. Not in the same way, obviously. But….”

He took a deep breath, and felt understanding settle between them. Both of their names carried weight, if not in the same way, different parts of the same burden. “Precisely.” 

She mustered an uncertain smile. “Then would you be interested in going to a play with me this week?”

“A play?” It had been many years since he’d done something so public, and he had never been to a London production.

“The Winter’s Tale. It’s--”

“Shakespeare. With your namesake.”

A faint pink flush colored her cheeks. She was so lovely. And apparently asking him out on a date. “Yes. Are you free Thursday evening?”

“I am.”

“The play’s at eight. We could meet at my office at seven?”

That seemed inadequate to him. If this was to be done, it should be done properly. “Would you like to join me for dinner first?”

“Like a proper date?” There was a sauciness to her tone that he found he quite liked, and she cocked one eyebrow at him.

He also liked the idea of a proper date, which was from the beginning  _ clearly _ a date. “Just so. Five-thirty then?”

“Your choice?” She began gathering the used tea things back onto the tray.

“You’ve chosen the play.”

“Only fair then.” She sent the tray back to the kitchen counter, clattering to rest by the sink. “Now, would you like to see the garden, such as it is?”

Casting a warming charm over both of them, he followed her out the door into the small back garden. She stood close to him as she discussed her plans, which mostly seemed to involve chairs and a table, and an umbrella of all things. The area would be sunny enough in spring and summer, and he made suggestions of a few other easy-to-grow herbs and flowers to compliment the rosemary and serve as a few potion essentials.

Even with warming charms, though, it was a cool day and they were soon back inside, sorting through piles of books. There was a clear system, though things had become jumbled as in packing, in order to make everything fit most efficiently. He worked on unboxing and resizing the books as Hermione sorted them onto shelves, grouped by subjects and authors. He paused in his resizing to flip open a hefty potions tome that had been in common use in America following their revolution, but had only rarely made it back across the pond; it included a great deal of information on regional ingredients from that country, and he found himself engrossed in a section on beach plums. His concentration was only broken by a clearing of her throat. When he finally looked up, she was smiling down at him as he sat on the floor.

“You’re welcome to borrow that if you’d like. It’s not a first edition, clearly, but it’s a faithful reproduction with excellent annotation.”

“I would appreciate that.” He set the book aside, and returned to work, which despite the sheer number of books was accomplished in a reasonable time. But it was still the longest amount of time he’d spent in anyone else’s company in many years. It was a pleasant shock to realize how much he’d enjoyed it, chatting back and forth about various volumes as he passed them along to her, spending long minutes in companionable quiet. It suited him.

Only when they were finished did she warn him, “Harry and Ginny invited themselves over with dinner this evening. Knowing her, it will be enough food for a small army, so you’re welcome to stay. But….”

“But I am not ready for that just yet,” he replied, without the acidity he feared might creep in at such an idea. “I shall take my leave. And see you Thursday evening.”

“Yes, Thursday,” she said, handing the potions book over to him as he brushed the debris of packing off. Their hands met for a moment, as did their eyes, but then he stepped back, not quite ready for that yet, either, though he knew he wanted it.

Upon stepping into the back garden once more, he quietly apparated home, clutching the book, already anticipating the week ahead. A date. With Hermione.


	13. Chapter 12 - December 6, 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a shorter chapter, but I think y'all will like it.

Severus spent the week in pleasant anticipation. There was just enough work to keep him occupied, but not so much that the week flew by; there was time to enjoy the anticipation, as he’d not had much to look forward to in many years. Now he had time to think about where he’d like to take her for dinner, and make plans. 

For a  _ date, _ like a bloody mooning teenager. 

But he was better off now than he’d ever hoped to be as a teenager, and was able to make plans for something that lived up to the elegant expectations of an evening out at the theatre. Or so he hoped. If he was required to muck about with a muggle tie--perhaps he could get away with his usual cravat?--it ought to at least impress her a bit. For he found that he wanted to impress her, to show her that he could be something other than a business associate, and someone who valued her time and her desire for a nice evening out.

He also began to think of other outings they might enjoy together, for he knew that this was not going to be a quick one-off tumble like he’d experienced before. Hermione was not that kind of woman, and he no longer had any desire for that kind of interaction; he’d made his peace with a quiet life alone, as that had been the only option. Now it seemed not to be, and he picked up a muggle publications on one of his delivery outings, to see what might be of interest to them both. 

Thursday afternoon he tidied up his lab early. Ingredients were all neatly reshelved, cauldrons were scrubbed, and countertops were wiped so clean that if it wasn’t a safety violation, one could have eaten off them. It was all necessary to prevent cross-contamination of potions, of course, but he simply prided himself on keeping a tidy lab.

Then he proceeded to ready himself. He considered the glamours he usually applied, and eventually opted for the lighter iteration he’d gone with the day he’d met her for coffee--a bit more grey in the hair, a bit less nose. Black was formal, and suited to the occasion, so he pulled out a muggle suit with fewer buttons and more modern lines than the dark wizarding robes so characteristic of Severus Snape. Ultimately he opted to deal with the more habitual cravat rather than a tie, choosing a silvery grey. Staring at himself in the mirror, he hardly recognized himself, though perhaps that had less to do with attire and charms than that the scowl that had been so characteristic of his face for most of his life was gone, replaced by something that was not quite a smile but definitely looked more approachable. He took a tonic for his throat, and pocketed a second vial should he need it--they did tend to converse a good bit, but a play seemed like something that would also not be so taxing upon his voice.

He apparated directly to her office at the appointed hour. The room’s glass walls were smoked, but it was empty and quiet. Practiced in waiting, he settled himself into a chair and took in the details of the space that he’d overlooked on his first visit--the black fountain pens in a coffee cup shaped like the Statue of Liberty, the poster framed behind the desk featuring female telephone operators, a small conch shell next to the mug. He was pondering the shell when the door opened and he stopped breathing.

She was radiant, in a deep midnight blue velvet dress that was modest even by wizarding standards, with a simple bateau neck and full skirt past her knees. But the color and silhouette suited her, as did the long curls she’d left hanging partially loose. Something sparkled in her ears, and on a pendant around her neck. It took thought to remember the importance of respiration, and he drew a deep breath as he stood to greet her.

“Good evening, Hermione. You look lovely.” Such a compliment was expected in such situations, he knew, which made it easier to express the sentiment aloud.

Crossing the floor on what he only now noticed were heels that added several inches to her modest height, she beamed. “You’re looking quite handsome yourself, Severus. Ready for dinner?”

He inclined his head. “May I side-along you?” 

“Let me grab my coat.” Then, without hesitation, she returned to his side and tucked an arm around him. 

He savoured the feel of it for a second before spinning them away, across London.

  
  
  


The alley down the block from the restaurant was quiet and dark, and they easily stepped out and blended in with muggle pedestrian traffic. The Italian restaurant he’d selected was well-reviewed but unpretentious, and they were seated promptly and comfortably, with plenty of time to eat before the play. After selecting wine, and ordering bucatini all'amatriciana for him and spinach and ricotta tortelloni for her, he considered casting a  _ muffliato _ around their table but decided against it, and opted instead to aim for a more normal conversation.

He asked about her experience seeing ‘The Winter’s Tale’ previously. That led to a meal-long conversation about her theater attendance while living in New York; it had turned her into a rather frequent attendee, which he quite liked the thought of. Perhaps this could become a regular activity for them. Not, though, most of the musicals, which did not sound at all to his liking. But for her, perhaps he’d give one a try.

As they were leaving dinner, she asked, “Have you been enjoying ‘Plantes of the New Worlde and Their Uses in Physicks’?”

“I have not had as much time to read it as I would wish,” he said, opening the door for her. “But what I have found time to study has been useful. There are a plethora of ingredients mentioned that are unusual here, or unused at all now. I’ve made note of a few I’d like to get my hands on for additional study, though it’s difficult with importation restrictions.”

They turned the corner and she seemed to step closer into him, nearly tucked against his side as they made their way down the street to the theater. While he wasn’t used to so much proximity or touch, he found himself comfortable with her there at his side.

“I’m glad you’re finding it useful. I admit I bought it on a whim, and sadly haven’t had much cause to actually brew anything from it.”

“Was there something particular of interest to you?”

“Not per se, but I found the variations from the potions we use today interesting. The Headache Relief, for example, uses almost totally different ingredients.”

“Historically, potions have had to be adapted to the available local ingredients. Certain potions were not able to be brewed in various locations because the ingredients weren’t attainable. It’s only been in the last hundred years or so that international cooperation, and transportation, have made it possible to make the same Headache Relief in London as in Los Angeles. Frequently people still use their older, local-ingredients based potions if brewing themselves.”

“That seems incredibly obvious now that you point it out but I never realized--oh, here we are!” The press of a theater’s worth of people was suddenly around them, which he’d failed to notice while focusing on the woman at his side. 

Accustomed as he was to solitude and avoiding large gatherings since the war, it was a disconcerting feeling to be in a sea of so many. Involuntarily, his posture straightened further and he drew Hermione closer to him, arm going around her waist. She glanced up at him, smile turning to a faint look of concern. 

“Are you all right?” Her own arm went around his waist, under his overcoat, and he drew a deep breath.

“I abhor crowds. Let us find our seats.” That would be more orderly, surely, and less stressful that this chaotic press of humanity. He had not realized Shakespeare was so popular.

It was indeed more tranquil inside the theater proper, the crowd in the lobby muffled to a dull drone, and lower house lighting being absorbed by velvet seat cushions. The seats were good, halfway into the orchestra section, if not especially comfortable. His long, lanky frame did not fit well into the narrow seating, but Hermione was wedged close beside him, so that made the entire endeavour worthwhile.

And as the show went on, he found that the play itself was worth the mild discomfort. It was engrossing and well acted, and had it not been so, glancing over at her in the darkness and taking in the look of rapture on her face would have made it worthwhile. After the curtain call, as he was helping her back into her coat, he was willing to admit that he was more than merely intrigued, more than just physically attracted to her; he was quite smitten. It was a feeling with which he was intensely unfamiliar and had done his best to avoid.

Yet the sentiment appeared to be returned. She stayed close to him even after they left the theater and headed down the block, her arm tucked through his. Church bells rang out the late hour as he considered asking her to join him for a nightcap, and he decided against it. Instead, they turned into a deserted side street where no one would notice their apparition.

“The play was enjoyable. Thank you for inviting me.”

“I’m glad you came with me. It was a lovely evening.” Then she was turning towards him, tipping up on her toes, and soft silky lips were brushing against his, ever so gently. There was a flush to her face noticeable even in the darkness, and she squeezed his arm before stepping back. “I’ll see you soon, Severus.”

Before he could react, she was gone with a turn and a crack, and he was left standing alone in the dark street, lips tingling. The honk of a car horn from out on the main road startled him back into action, blinking and shaking his head to clear it. Only then did he apparate home to have his own nightcap and ponder the delectable Mistress Hermione Granger.


	14. Chapter 13 - December 7, 2012

The next morning dawned foggy and chilly, a rime of frost covering the last hardy leaves still lingering in his garden. Steam spiraled out of his tea as he walked a circuit of it, examining the witch hazel buds that would need the first round of harvesting once the frost lifted, and the new growth of hellebores that promised a plentiful supply this year. A twist of his wrist snapped off a fresh sprig of holly, which he ambled back inside with, depositing his tea cup in the kitchen sink as he made his way down to the lab with it.

While removing the berries, he finally let his mind drift back to the night before. The feel of her lips on his had been exquisite, and he was left in no doubt as to her intentions. Or her bravery, in taking a step he’d not been bold enough to take himself however much he might have wanted to. That left him feeling that the next step was up to him. Putting up the jar of berries, he disposed of the twig in a quick  _ incendio _ , then trod back up the stairs to his office and sat down heavily at the desk.

Morse cocked his head and studied him, until he heaved a sigh. The barn owl only preened a wing in response, but he pulled out a bit of parchment and a quill.

_ Hermione- _

_ Would you be free to join me for dinner at home one evening this weekend? _

_ S _

He rolled up the note and affixed it to the owl, who was off out the window without a second’s hesitation. Severus, however, stared after the bird for several minutes, pondering his decision. When he’d invited her here before, it was mostly because she seemed to see who he was, and he was curious as to what her reaction to him revealing his identity would be. He’d been hopeful, but without positive expectations at that point. More than half of his expectation had been that she’d apparate right out of his life. Now it seemed highly probable that she would accept the dinner offer. 

Out the office window in the garden, the weak sunlight had been enough to melt the frost from the plants, leaving everything looking glossy and new. He gathered a sharp knife and a jar, and went out to harvest the witch hazel buds--only selectively, of course, because he would need flowers to harvest later in the winter as well. The sun warmed him through his layers of wool as he worked, setting buds aside for a bit while he watered the herbs he’d put up in the greenhouses for the winter.

He was crossing the garden back to the house when Morse swooped back down to him, landing awkwardly on a bit of old trellis. Taking the note from the owl’s leg, he patted the bird on the back and went on inside. Though the temptation to immediately open the note was great, he focused on the task at hand, descending to his lab to spread out the witch hazel buds to dry over low heat for a few hours. Only when the embers under the tray were glowing but producing no flames did he sit down on a stool and unseal the note from Hermione.

_ S- _

_ I would be delighted to join you for dinner this weekend. I’m engaged Saturday, but free to join you Sunday, if that suits? _

_ H _

Sunday did suit, of course, as he had no weekend plans at all beyond working and reading the latest issue of International Potioneers Quadrennial, and the latter was generally more than half idiocy best used for lighting his hearth. Yet his mind lingered on her Saturday engagement--what was she doing, and why mention it at all? It was, he supposed, an invitation to inquire, and he was skeptical about taking such easy bait. But she was not one prone to such games, being a forthright sort.

It was ultimately easier to mull over his menu choices. Certainly something fancier than the one-pan cod and potato dish he’d prepared her previous visit was in order, as this was most assuredly a date and should be handled as such. Maybe that called for engaging Nella’s assistance, since her culinary skills far surpassed his own rudimentary talents. He would ask her for ideas at lunch, he decided, but do the cooking himself and not interrupt the elf’s allotted time off.

Resolved, he peered at the buds, which were just beginning the hours long process of drying, and headed up to send a note to Hermione about Sunday dinner, and grab the list of the day’s orders off his desk.

_ H- _

_ Rus Prince lives at Orchard House, Cornwall.  _

_ You’ll be expected at 6. _

_ S _

  
  
  


Nella had been overjoyed to aid him with planning a menu, and had popped out to wherever she did the shopping—it had never occurred to him to ask where any of the food came from—and came back laden with all sorts of things that weren’t part of his standard larder stock. The source of his food became more of a curiosity when he pondered the source of fresh asparagus and bright, ripe cherries in December, rather than the source of a tin of soup or a pork chop.

The culinary-minded elf had helped him select a few recipes, and he’d set them aside in the kitchen, at the ready. They were not especially elaborate, though the duck breast required attentive cooking and would be left until just before serving. As a veteran brewer of potions, the creation of a hollandaise sauce was not a complex feat, and he found himself almost enjoying the preparation of the meal, when he heard the  _ crack _ of apparition into his back garden. Putting down his spatula and removing the navy apron that had been protecting his denims and forest green button down, he made his way to his garden door.

Hermione met him there, just stepping into the glow of the doorway as he opened it. Then he faltered for a moment, taking in the lovely form of her in a dark pea coat, curls tumbling down her back and a bottle of wine in proffered hand. She had no such hesitation, stepping right up to him, and rising up on her toes to peck his lips in a kiss, before stepping back just enough to offer him the wine again.

“Hello, Severus.”

“Welcome, Hermione. And thank you for the wine.” He barely even looked at the bottle, beyond noting that it was a red, before ushering her inside, out of the chill and into the warmth of his house. Her cheeks flushed almost instantly in the warmth, and she was shedding the coat before he could juggle the door and the wine. With a few silent spells, he relieved her of it and hung it on the rack by the door, and sent the wine off to the kitchen.

“I thought perhaps this time we might do better than eating in the kitchen.”

“Your kitchen was lovely. But I believe I saw more of the garden than your house.”

Tamping down the urge to prickle a bit, he nodded at the truth of it. “I was more concerned with your reaction to me. And as I mentioned then, I am unaccustomed to entertaining guests.” He led her down the short central hallway and opened the door.

She stepped through it, but her eyes stayed on him. “How many other people know where you live?”

“No one—“

His answer was cut short by her gasp of delight as she took in his office and library. The previous day, he done his best to tidy it, and arranged the two chairs and transfigured a small table by the hearth to make for better dining, but that was not what seemed to capture her attention. She was focused on the two walls of books, stepping away from him to better examine the titles.

Granted, her attentive perusal of his shelves did afford him the opportunity to peruse her form, clad in some sort of deep green, knitted dress that did lovely things to accentuate her figure while still looking like something she might also wear to work. He was so distracted by her that he barely realized what she was crouching to look at.

“Those are--”

“These aren’t--”

She stepped back as he stepped forward, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her to his side, away from the section of shelving that held some of the darker texts in his possession.

“Those aren’t the Encyclopedia Britannica.” 

“Hardly.” He waved his hand, and allowed enough of the warding to fall from the shelves that the true forms of the books themselves were visible. She stepped from his side again to peer at the titles, but still kept her distance.

“Some of these books are thought to be lost, or prohibited.”

“There’s a whole shelf of ‘lost’ books over there, masquerading as ‘The Decline and Fall of The Roman Empire.’” He pointed to a shelf near his desk, and she was already off and moving in that direction, eyes sparkling. “You’re welcome to read through any of them while I finish up dinner.”

“Oh, Severus,” she practically moaned in delight as he unwarded the shelf of ‘lost’ works, gaze flickering between him and the books with utter enchantment. “You know the way to a girl’s heart.”

“Between the third and fourth ribs.”

For a second her delight turned to puzzlement, then that brilliant grin spread across her face again and she laughed. “Go finish our dinner. Are we eating in here? Is that safe?” Her fingers waved vaguely toward the shelves.

“Assuming you will not be using Cleopatra’s treatise on the medicinal herbs of ancient Egypt as a placemat, it’s perfectly safe.”

“Cleopatra’s—“ She was already lost to him, her focus fully on the shelf to the left of his desk. Extended fingers trailed along the edge of the shelf, and he heard her gasp at least twice before he rewarded the shelf of Dark books and left the room; he chuckled to himself as he walked down the hall.

Upon his return half an hour later, she was ensconced in one of his favorite chairs by the crackling fire, a hefty calfskin-bound volume carefully opened on her lap. She only looked up when the two dinner plates, place settings, and wine all settled themselves on the table he’d set up between the chairs.

“Where did you get a copy of  _ La Vie de Merlin? _ No one’s even tried to  _ find _ a copy since Gerard de Gamarthe in 1558. Since he failed in his search then, everyone’s just assumed it never existed.“

“You’d be surprised what turns up in muggle used book shops. I always make a point to visit them while traveling. That turned up in Chicago, if I recall correctly, shelved right next to some Thomas Mallory for $13.” He poured generous glasses of pinot noir for both of them, anticipating a steady stream of question over dinner now that he’d revealed not just himself but his library. “Though a few of them were inherited from the Princes. Mostly the Darker works. And the Cicero.”

Closing the volume reverently, she sent it across the room to the safety of his desk before touching her wine glass. Tentatively, she raised it, and he met her toast with a smile. Her eyes almost immediately flickered back to the shelf, then she seemed to take a deep breath, and focus on the meal in front of her.

“This looks delicious. You made it yourself?” One brow raised, but so did the corners of her lips.

“Nella assisted with menu planning and shopping, but I did the cooking.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the clinks of silverware on china. Finally, she wiped her lips with the napkin and smiled at him. “This is delicious. I wasn’t sure I even liked duck.”

“It is a favorite of mine, when well-prepared.” 

“Nella’s taught you well, then.”

“She is invaluable, and one of very few good things inherited from the Prince family.”

“Aside from the books?” Her gaze returned to the shelves.

“Yes, and a few of the books. But most of the collection was purchased.”

“You said there’s a Cleopatra treatise?”

“Obviously, it’s a copy, not the original. But of the period.”

They discussed the Cleopatra, and a few of the other ‘lost’ works he’d managed to acquire over the years. But as they were finishing up their meal, and he was refilling their wine glasses yet again, there was a lull in the conversation. He should have just let himself bask the quiet, for it was rare that he was able to enjoy a quiet moment with anyone. Jealousy, though, encouraged his inquiry.

“What was your engagement yesterday?” he found himself asking.

“Oh!” Her entire face lit up, and he sank back down into his seat, wondering at her delight. “I had tea and a meeting with Minerva.”

He nodded, encouraging her to continue as his jealousy ebbed instantly. 

“She’d like me to come do a few guest lectures at Hogwarts to introduce students to muggle technology.”

A brow quirked up. “Should that not be the job of the Muggle Studies professor?”

“I rather got the impression,” she said, taking a long sip of the wine, “that Minerva finds Professor Baltas to be...old fashioned. But he’s apparently the second cousin of a member of the board of governors, so nearly impossible to remove.”

“Ah, yes, the joys of board politics.” He sighed in satisfaction at not having to deal with that madness any longer. “You’ve accepted the invitation?”

“I have! I’ll be going up every Friday in January to speak with the various classes about computers and mobile phones, and hopefully give them some experience in using them.”

“You know that Minerva will now do her best to recruit you as a replacement.”

“Oh, she’s already started!” she laughed. “I have no desire to spend the rest of my life at Hogwarts, happy as I am to go speak to them a occasionally.”

“You’ll be spending you holidays planning lectures, then.” He waved his wand, sending their dinner plates off to the kitchen and summoning two slices of Nella’s bakewell tart. He slid one towards her with a soft smile.

“Hardly. I’ve got training lectures down pat, after so many years. I’ll have to round up enough laptops for the students to each have one to work with.” She tilted her head and studied him as she chewed a bit of dessert. “What are your holiday plans, Severus?”

“The same as ever. Sitting here by the fire with a glass of wine and a good book.”

She hummed, a thoughtful look upon her face, and took another bit of the tart. “This is delicious. Nella?”

“She is an excellent baker.” 

He did let the silence settle comfortably over them as they finished dessert, the wine and the fire lulling them both as they sank back into the comfortable chairs. It was, he thought, how he would like to spend every Sunday evening. Hermione, too, seemed in no hurry to do more than sit with him and enjoy her wine.

But eventually she stirred, and sighed. “I suppose I should head home. I have a morning meeting tomorrow to try and get our contracts in line and completed before everyone scatters for the holidays. Your Miss Rushcliffe is coming in Tuesday for her training, and we should be ready to set you up later this week or early next.”

Rising, he offered her his hand. “As always, I shall look forward to your owl.”

She stood and squeezed his hand before letting go. “Walk me out?”

His arm was taken with enthusiasm, and she walked close beside him as he slowed his stride down the hallway to match her own. And to prolong her departure just a bit. Opening the door with a silent spell, he stepped through into the garden with her. She turned into him, and his arms seemed to come around her of their own accord. Hers slid up to rest on his shoulders, fingers just brushing the edge of his neck and causing a shiver to run down his spine.

There was no hesitation this time, as she stretched up and he dropped his head to meet her lips. She slipped her fingers to the back of his neck, skimming through his hair, leading him to moan into the kiss. Lips parted, and she tasted of the wine and fresh cherries, and they parted only long enough to breathe before meeting agan, once, twice. He needed no warming charm, and would have stood there with her all night. 

But she pulled away with a sly smile, hands leaving his shoulders with some reluctance. “I’ll see you later, Severus.” With one more quick peck to his lips, she stepped back.

He caught her elbow quickly, and gave her another kiss. “Come to dinner Wednesday.”

“Wednesday.” She was smiling as broadly as he, as she apparated away.

  
  



	15. Chapter 14 - December 12, 2012

Along with Wednesday’s morning owl delivery potion special orders, Severus received a letter from Miss Rushcliffe, about her experiences Tuesday morning with the computer suite that Integrated Technology was setting them up with. Though his initial inclination was to put it aside to read over lunch, he let it sit only long enough to read through the potions orders and see that while several of them were quite complex, none of them were emergencies, and he could take an extra five minutes to read it while finishing a second cup of tea.

The office manager seemed highly enthusiastic about the system, even more so than he had been, though she’d seen a more advanced system than the basic tutorial he’d received. Apparently there was a system in place now to log orders and ingredients, and something to tally the books as well. He was looking forward to seeing that, and making use of it. He had a meeting of his on on Friday with Oswin, for further training and feedback on the systems. The contact on that had come through the goblin, sadly, not Hermione, and he was looking forward to seeing her over dinner.

This time, he’d given in and just left it all to Nella. He’d requested something simple, that they could enjoy in front of the fire again; she’d seemed as fond of that as he had, and he wanted her to be able to relax with him. The idea of a festive date out somewhere had an appeal, but he did not want to deal with the holiday crowds both magical and muggle. Perhaps they could plan something for after the new year—was he getting ahead of himself thinking a few weeks into the future? Did she have further holiday commitments to schedule around in the coming weeks? He’d carefully avoided any such plans, but the idea of celebrating this new something between them did have an appeal. 

He was snapped out of his musings about appropriate Christmas gifts early in relationships by the arrival of another owl, this time with an emergency order. Heaving a sigh, he took the information, treated the bird, and descended to his lab. His work day had begun.

When her emerged hours later, he’d completely lost track of the time. His lower back ached from hunching over three different cauldrons all day, and his shirt was damp with sweat and toad bile, chilling him while also leaving him repulsively fragrant. The curtains were drawn and the fire was lit in his office, and he decided to rest a moment while debating whether it was a better use of his remaining energy to tromp up to his bedroom or to transfigure a chair into a sofa and fall asleep right here. Only when he went to slump into one of the fireside chairs did he realize someone was already there, lost in a book.

“Hermione!” He staggered a step, catching himself on the other chair then sinking down into it. “When did you arrive?”

“I have no idea, what time is it now?”

“Clearly, I’ve lost track of time myself.” Casting a  _ tempus _ he was astonished to see it well past eight. 

“A bit over an hour, then. Nella let me in and told me to make myself at home. She’s a delight.”

“She is. And you’re quite welcome to. What have you found now?”

“Just ‘Murder on the Orient Express.’ I didn’t want to touch the wards on anything more interesting for fear of disturbing your brewing.”

Smiling gratefully, he nodded. “Thank you, it would have done. Then I’d have had to start all over again, and I’m not sure I have it in me.”

She sat the book on the arm of the chair. “Your whole face changes when you smile, you know. You’re quite striking.”

When he huffed out a laugh, she rose and came to stand in front of him; he thought she was going to lean down and kiss him, but she did something even better—she began to knead his shoulders. He dropped his head forward with a groan. She might have hummed a bit, but he couldn’t be sure, so he just reached forward and rested his hands on her hips, thumbs lightly circling in rhythm with her own strokes.

“Are you up for dinner, or are you headed straight for bed?”

His head jerked up then, staring straight at her with mouth gaping like a fish. It took a full three seconds for his brain to process that it wasn’t an offer, however much he might like one; he was in no fit state for such things, anyway. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast. I ought to have something. And you’ve come all the way out here.”

She did kiss him, then, on the forehead like a tired child. “I wouldn’t complain about coming here just to spend some time in your library. Though Nella was really talking up her roast chicken.”

“It’s almost as wonderful as you.” He hadn’t meant to say that, but appreciated the smile it earned him. “Nella?”

The elf appeared nearly instantaneously. “Dinner, sir?”

“Please, Nella.”

Hermione hardly had time to sit back down before the elf returned with beautifully plated dinners for both of them. She served them with a bow, and something that might have been a wink in his direction before disappearing without a word. 

Half his plate was gone before he realized he hadn’t been much of a dinner companion for Hermione. “Tell me how you spent your day. Surely more interesting than being buried in a lab.”

She shook her head and stabbed at a fingerling potato. “It was hardly creating a life-saving potion. Two weeks before Christmas, and everyone and their grandmother wants a mobile. Naturally, they’ve left off trying to buy one til now. We’ve got a decent stock of non-customized phones, fortunately. And most witches and wizards aren’t powerful enough, or work in anything like potions or the aurory, that would interfere with standard models. Still, it’s been rather hectic keeping up with demand. I’m going to have to rethink our planning for next Christmas.”

He dozed off somewhere in her description of her day, utensils and exquisite roast chicken forgotten, lulled by the sound of her voice. When a hand touched his cheek, his eyes flickered open again. She was standing in front of him again, looking down with warm, concerned eyes.

“Go to bed, Severus.”

“I should—“

“I’ll ask Nella to come clean up. You’re exhausted. And lest you feel guilty for falling asleep on me, you can make it up to me by taking me out to dinner after you meet with Oswin on Friday.”

“All right. Somewhere muggle?”

She ruffled a hand through his hair, further tousling what must have already been a horrible mess. But it felt good, and he leaned in to her touch. “I’ll make a reservation.”

Nodding pressed his head further into her caresses, and he let himself drift there, enjoying her fingers lightly massaging his scalp. Why had he never known how good such a thing could feel? 

Eventually, her ministrations ceased, and he looked blearily up at her. The expression on her face wasn’t quite the one he was expecting—there was an affection there, and concern, but something else, too, as if she were working on a particularly complex puzzle. Was her work stressing her, tiring her as much as his was? Her day had sounded as if it might be. 

Catching her hand, he tugged her lightly, while silently enlarging the chair into something closer to a loveseat, and encouraging her to sit beside him. “You must be tired, too.”

“Yes.” With a sigh, she slipped an arm around his waist and let her head rest on the edge of his shoulder. He began caressing the small of her back, and felt her melt into it. “But my bed is in Richmond, not upstairs.”

“There are two spare bedrooms that have never been used. Nella would be happy to freshen up the sheets for you.”

She sat up and looked at him, blinking twice before seeming to study him for a long time. The silence stretched between them, until he began to wonder if he’d made some kind of faux pas with his offer. But eventually her hand rose to rest on his shoulder, and she said, “Now is not the night for me to stay here.”

He parsed her words for a minute, then simply said, “All right.” Then he angled his head fractionally and found her lips with his own. It was gentle and sweet, promising more, later. And yet it lingered, as they nearly broke apart, then came together again, with light brushes of lips, and fingers just tracing the other’s backs and shoulders.

When they finally separated, it was with a deep breath on both their parts; he could feel her ribs expanding under his fingers, and pressed gently into them. She smiled back at him with pinker lips, eyes sparkling in spite of the fatigued circles he’d just noticed under them.

“You can floo home if you’d prefer.”

That seemed to break whatever spell they’d both been under. She rose and stepped towards the fireplace. “That would be easier, if you don’t mind.”

He took the tin of floo powder off the mantle and offered it to her, as he tapped the fireplace with his wand. “You are welcome via floo any time.”

“Get some rest, Severus. I’ll see you Friday.” And with another brief buss of his lips, she stepped into the fire and stated her address. The flames flared brighter green for a moment, then faded and she was gone.

He lingered, staring after her for a few long breaths before blinking and calling on Nella to retrieve their dinnerware. Mustering the last of his energy, he headed upstairs to collapse into bed, knowing that if he dreamt at all, it would be of her.


	16. Chapter 15 - December 14, 2012

The whole of his Friday was to be spent in Diagon Alley, and that thought was not a pleasing one to him. Morning was occupied at the apothecary, going over books and discussing the computerization efforts with Miss Rushcliffe. That was tedious, if necessary and productive. By the time he left the back door to his shop, he felt well prepared for his session with Oswin. Mostly because it meant that soon, he’d no longer have to come in for more than random checks of the shop. 

This time, the goblin was dressed in a lurid chartreuse shirt that he could barely stand to look at. That was just as well, as it left him to focus his attention on the computer monitor in front of him. It turned out there were multiple programs he would be required to learn, in order to contact Miss Rushcliffe via electronic mail, and to see their inventory and orders, and to review the books. Oswin was a good teacher, though, methodical and matter-of-fact, and he found the information to be rather logically intuitive. 

By the end of their hours together, he made a few suggestions based on his own training and Miss Rushcliffe’s observations, so that the programs would be most useful for Specialized Potion Solutions, and for him personally. His manager would need to be adaptable to his needs, and she had proven to be in the past, so he would have the system configured to best suit himself. It was, after all, his company. 

And the programmer seemed to think the changes he suggested were not overly complex or time consuming. The entire thing should still be ready for delivery at the end of the following week, so that they could have it all in place for the start of the new year. He’d just have to make a few more trips in to the shop than usual during the week between Christmas and New Year’s as the system went into place. And a computer would need to be set up in his home office as well. 

“Will you be the one installing this at my home, Oswin?”

“I’m a programmer, so none of the install is on me. That’ll be Beth or Izzy, probably.” The goblin leaned back in his seat.

Severus’ brow furrowed at the idea of dealing with yet another new person. He definitely did not like the idea of anyone coming to his home. “Not yourself or Mistress Granger?”

“Ah, Mistress Granger maybe. She mentioned you had some complex security wards because of all the potions materials, and she might want to work on setup herself.”

He nodded. “That would be my preference. In fact--”

The arrival of the woman herself interrupted him, though she managed to enter silently and seemed to be studying the two of them with a look of bemusement. When it became apparent that Severus wasn’t going to say anything more, Oswin picked up where he’d left off, and looped his boss in too.

“Master Prince would prefer you do the install at his personal lab.”

A smile flickered across Hermione’s lips before she resumed her professional face. “I suspected he might. I know I don’t usually, but his situation is a bit different than a robe boutique or the average personal home system.”

“Right then. You taking over from here? I can get started on the next phase of the Diaz order.”

“Yeah, Os, I can take it from here. You can have SPS done next week so we can start with setup?”

“I just have a few more tweaks, but they should be fast. It’ll be ready midweek.”

“Great. See you Monday.”

The goblin slipped out with a wave at both of them, and Hermione turned back to him. He felt the  _ muffliato _ fall around the room as she smiled.

“Severus.”

“Hermione.” He let himself smile at her, for he was truly happy to see her again. “Shall we schedule next week’s business first, so we can enjoy the rest of our day?”

“We can. You’re running up against the holiday with scheduling, but if Os can have everything on the software end ready by Wednesday, we should be able to do your apothecary on Thursday or Friday. I have a teleconference with New York Thursday afternoon, but can do yours on Friday if that works.”

“Do you prefer that the staff is present? I have given them all a half day on Friday before the holiday week; the shop will be closing at one.”

She settled in the chair Oswin had recently abandoned. “That would be preferable, actually. Someone needs to be present to make sure things are properly and safely located, of course, but all the staff need not be present.”

“I will owl Miss Rushcliffe,” he said with a nod. “It would be preferable if she is present, since she will be using the system on that end, but if she has plans to begin her holiday, I will be there.”

“And what about you? When would you like me to come over?”

“Is combining business with pleasure an option? Perhaps you can come set up the system then stay. For dinner,” he hastily added, though if she desired to stay for more than that, he would not object.

“It absolutely is.” She stood with a smile. “As soon as we know whether you’ll be in shop for the installation here, I’ll set up a time with you for your personal installation.”

He blinked at that, which somehow sounded slightly flirtatious. With a shake of his head and a reminder to be a gentleman, he rose as well and offered her his arm. “Shall we to dinner now, then?”

“Yes! I’ve been looking forward to it all day. Do you mind if we walk?”

And so with pleasant half-hour’s walk, they found themselves at a French bistro. He had limited experience with French food through most of his life, and what little he’d had was via association with people like the Malfoys, for whom it was a means of impressing their superiority. He’d found it equally pretentious and overwrought. Then he’d had the chance to travel a bit, and enjoy real French food, and found he quite liked the non-pretentious iterations of it. The restaurant she’d chosen, he was delighted to see upon reading the menu, appeared to cater to the more peasant dishes that he preferred.

She’d looked delighted when he ordered cassoulet, and she looked rather blissed as they both enjoyed their soupe a l’oignon.

“How did you find this place?” He asked between the courses as they enjoyed the bright Beaujolais nouveau.

“It’s complicated,” she furrowed her brow. “It’s owned by cousins of my second cousin’s neighbors. I think.” Then she laughed, a most delightful sound that warmed something inside him that even the soup hadn’t been able to touch. “Something like that, anyway.”

“That does sound complicated.”

“It wasn’t, really. I met them while I was visiting my cousins in Burgundy two years ago. They found out I was English, and told me that I must stop by their cousin’s restaurant. Except I was living in New York at the time, so it took far too long to actually get here.”

“Your cousins live in Burgundy?” 

“Dijon. My maternal grandmother was French, and we used to spend summers there when I was small. I hadn’t been back since my third year at Hogwarts.”

He nodded solemnly as her coq au vin and his cassoulet arrived, wondering about the kind of charmed upbringing that led to summers in France. “Why were you not sent to Beauxbatons when the war escalated?”

“I never even thought that was an option. It certainly wasn’t presented to me as one. Not that I would have gone anyway.”

“Of course you wouldn’t have done.” He took a bite of his dinner, savoring the rich flavor. It was more than satisfactory.

“You could have, and you didn’t.” She pointed her fork at him, the effect somewhat damped by the carrot speared on it.

“I couldn’t have.” He shook his head, and fixed his gaze on his food.

“Karkaroff fled.”

“He paid for that dearly. I had other obligations.”

“Which nearly cost you your life. Didn’t you want your freedom?”

“Thanks to you, it didn’t. And it wouldn’t have been any kind of freedom, not while he was still out there. I’d have been found and killed eventually, had I tried to abstain.”

She put down her fork. “It’s not thanks to me.”

He tilted his head, studying her. “Who do you think saved me then?”

“Poppy.” There was a quizzical expression on her face. “All I did was triage. Bandaged you up and gave you a few potions and sent you along with Winky.”

“Hermione, you saved my life. You gave me the antivenin I couldn’t pull from my own robes, and treated and bandaged my wound, and sent me to safety. Poppy did very little more for me once I was delivered to the infirmary.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes, with her casting what she clearly thought were surreptitious glances at him. He was sopping up the last of his meal with a bit of excellent bread when she finally put her utensils down with a abrupt finality.

“This shouldn’t be….” She seemed to struggle with her words, for all they seemed plentiful most of the time. “That is, I don’t want you to feel...obligated.”

He blinked at her. “Obligated?”

“To me. For saving you. But I don’t want that.”

It was nearly funny, and he knew whatever expression found its way to his face did not reassure her. “I do not feel  _ obligated _ to you, Hermione. Immensely thankful for my chance at a life of my own, yes, but not obliged to you for anything.”

“Oh.”

“I am long finished with doing anything in my life out of obligation.” 

“Pleasure only, then?” The flirty tone he liked had returned to her voice, if tentatively.

Refilling both their wine glasses, he smiled. “I’m not a hedonist. There are clearly necessities, like some means of employment. But now I have the opportunity to occupy myself only as I wish to, and associate with only those I wish to.”

She smiled at him prettily, and he admired the candlelight on her curls. “Do you wish for dessert then? They do an excellent creme brulee.”

The meal had been delightful, and he did enjoy a dessert. “Perhaps we might share one? Then I understand that the National Portrait Gallery is open late on Fridays. If you’re interested, it’s a short walk from here.”

“Creme brulee it is then,” she said, hailing a waiter. Then she turned back to him. “Did you see the exhibit on Henry Stuart yet?”

“No,” he answered, shaking his head. “I’ve only ever been once.”

“Then it’ll be new for both of us. I haven’t had much free time this fall, getting IT up and running here.”

Rather than lingering over dessert, they ate with alacrity, wishing to give themselves enough time at the museum. The walk there would have been delight enough for him, as she stayed close by his side and he wrapped an arm around her and shortened his stride to match hers. The cool night air pinked her cheeks, and she was tucking herself in close to stay warm by the time they arrived. He was reluctant to step inside and lose his contact with her, but after dropping off their coats, she returned to his side and captured his hand.

The exhibit she’d wanted to see wasn’t especially large, and so even with reading the information provided by the gallery and discussing a bit of the history as they knew it, they made quick work of it.

“Shall we check out the rest of it while we’re here?” Her smile was eager, and he wouldn't have said ‘no’ even if he’d had a potion waiting for his attention.

As they strolled the galleries hand-in-hand, he wasn’t certain he noticed any of the art. He was too busy watching her reactions to things—the furrow of her brow as she read; the glow in her eyes as she discovered something new that she then immediately read to him; the way she hop-scotched across the lines of the parquet floor. He was, he admitted fully to himself as they stood before a portrait of an American author he vaguely recalled having hated, more than a little smitten with the witch, and this evening seemed as good as any to do something more about it. 

Raising their entwined hands to his lips, he kissed the back of hers. He felt the instant of tension in her muscles, then felt her relax with a sigh and drift a little closer to him. The spell between them was broken by a not especially delicate clearing of the throat by a woman two paces to their right. Hermione startled at the sound, nearly pulling her hand from his, as he glowered at the wrinkly little silver-haired woman in an obviously expensive, ostentatiously orange suit. 

“I thought it was Umbridge for a moment,” she whispered, as they made their way into the next room of the gallery.

“If I recall correctly, she’s still serving her stint in Azkaban.”

He felt her shudder, and realized as they walked down the next gallery that she’d lost her focus on the art—she failed to read even one description to him, even on the allegory filled portrait of Isaac Newton. He held them back when she tried to move on to the next room.

“It’s Friday evening. Would you rather just go...have a nightcap?”

“My place?”

“Anywhere you’d like.”

It didn’t take long for them to find a quiet alcove where she could disapparate them directly back to her sitting room. Their sudden appearance startled her familiar, who darted off he sofa with a hiss of displeasure and disappeared into the darkness of the house. Severus wasted no time in gathering her even closer to him and kissing her soundly.

“I’ve been waiting to do that all day.”

She returned his kiss with equal enthusiasm, arms tightening around him and pulling them flush against one another. “You could have done it much sooner. No one at the office would have batted an eye.”

“That old bat at the museum might have.” He kissed her again, deeper, lifting her up a bit as he did so, until she broke the kiss with a giggle, tapping him on the shin with her toe.

“You wanted to kiss me in the museum?” She kissed him on the chin as he put her feet flat on the floor. 

“You were looking especially lovely.” 

“Flatterer,” she said with a smile, though it was a self-conscious one. “Would you like a drink?”

“A tisane would be good for my throat.” They had been talking almost continuously, and he was feeling the effects.

Nodding, she shed her coat. “I’ve got a really lovely cinnamon cardamom I like in the evenings. Make yourself at home.” With a wave at the chairs, the fireplace sprung to life, enveloping the cozy room in a warm glow.

As she bustled off to the kitchen, he heard the clatter of tea being made the proper muggle way, with a kettle boiled on the burner rather than via magic, and he settled himself at one end of the couch, dropped the rest of his glamours, and took in the room. Things seemed to have settled in place in the two weeks since she’d moved in, with a throw now on the back of the couch and a stack of books on one of the side tables. He picked up the first one and skimmed the dark cover—it appeared to be some kind of American thriller, or perhaps a murder mystery. 

He opened the cover and read the first few lines, which might have been promising, but was distracted by the sound of Hermione moving about in the kitchen. Though the book lay open, he gazed unseeing towards the kitchen, pondering where this evening should go. 

Clearly they were attracted to one another, and should progress beyond an endless series of dinner dates. But he had gone no further than superficial dalliances since he’d assumed the life of Rus Prince; having any kind of genuine relationship was not something he had any experience with at all. But he knew this was not to be a mere dalliance. Just what his next step should be was being carefully tumbled around in his mind as Hermione returned with the tea tray.

He studied her as she carefully settled the tray on the table and began preparing cups for each of them, adding a generous portion of honey to his. The lovely aroma wafted towards him, warming him as much as the fire did. As she handed him the teacup, her hand wrapped around his, gently, briefly, before she smiled and returned to preparing her own cup, with just a dash of milk. She looked a bit apprehensive, too, as if she was waiting to see what would happen.

Silently, they sipped the steaming tea, eyeing one another.

“Do you like it?” She broke the silence first, cautiously.

He nodded in response. “Hermione…” he began, then paused, and took another sip of tea. “We have clearly progressed beyond mere friendship.”

“Clearly.” She sat down her cup, but smiled at him encouragingly. 

“I have little— _ no _ experience in such matters.” He spoke haltingly, waiting to find the right words before allowing himself to speak; it was not in his nature to give voice to the complexities of his feelings and insecurities. “Not with actual relationships. I’ve not allowed anyone….”

She moved closer to him on the sofa, putting his cup back on the tea tray, too, and tucking up her feet as she settled close beside him. One of her hands rested my his thigh, and he covered it with his own. Then he took a deep breath and met her eyes. Expectation was clearly written on her face, but she must have seen the difficulty he was having written on his.

“Having been in...a couple,” she cleared her throat delicately, “of relationships in the past, I can definitively say starting out being honest with who we both are is a good first step.”

There was surely a painful story there, but now was most definitely not the time for inquiries. Instead, he nodded. “The inability to be myself has been a hindrance in the past. But I am...uncertain how to proceed now.”

Her thumb traced the side of his hand. “It’s not 1850. There isn’t some kind of set protocol. Just...let it develop naturally.”

Raising their joined hands, as he’d done at the museum, he kissed the back of hers again. “I do not undertake such a thing lightly. Particularly knowing that it will require me to be... _ myself _ ...to others. Eventually.”

She released his hand to press her palm to his cheek, and leaned over to kiss him. “I’m not expecting Severus Snape to attend Christmas dinner with Harry and Ginny next week.” She kissed him again, their lips lingering in a slow kiss that nearly broke apart, then came back together in short, sweet pecks. “But I don’t take a relationship lightly, either.”

“You are spending Christmas with the Potters?” He hadn’t contemplated it much before, and had been perfectly content with his own plans of a good book and a good fire and an excellent bottle of wine. Until he thought about what she’d be doing--which did not involve him. Suddenly he very much wanted it to involve him.

“I have for years. I’d come back to London a few days before, and spend the week between Christmas and New Year’s with them, then portkey back to New York on New Year’s day.” She frowned a bit. “This year, I’m obviously not staying with them. But I’m still going over for dinner on Christmas day.”

“I see.” And he did. They were the closest thing she had to family.

Her fingers ruffled through his hair. “You said you were spending the holiday with a book,” she said, with a gently teasing tone. “Would you like to spend Christmas Eve with me instead?”

“Yes.” He would, most decidedly, like to spend many evenings with her. Every evening, from the way his heart sped up at the very thought. He leaned forward and captured her lips, snaking one arm around her and pulling her close as their lips parted and tongues met. When they finally parted, both were flushed, and breathing heavily.

Hermione shifted, and he realized she’d practically been sat in his lap. When she began to move away, he held her just long enough to communicate that he was all right with her staying right where she was. She relaxed then, and pressed herself closer to him, kissing him again until he found himself beginning to respond, hips rolling into her of their own accord.

“Hermione,” he gasped. He wasn’t sure if it was a warning or encouragement. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for this leap into intimacy. 

Eyes opening again, she blinked at him and smiled. With one more kiss, she slid back slowly from him until she was forced to break away. “I’ll spend next Friday with you, too.”

Given the reallocated blood flow, it took his brain a split-second longer than usual to process that statement. Then he smiled, and rose from the couch. “I will look forward to it. But now I believe I should return home. It has grown late.”

She rose, too, handing him the tin of floo powder. “If you’re near Diagon, I can probably slip out for coffee Tuesday or Wednesday.”

“I’ll need stop by the shop Wednesday and make sure everything is prepared for the computer’s arrival. After that, I will come by.” Then with a kiss to her forehead, he sprinkled a bit of floo powder on the fire, and stepped away home. 


	17. Chapter 16 - December 21, 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If, like me, you're in the US, it has been a WEEK. And since it's also been the week in which I finally finished writing the entirety of this story, I thought it would be a great time for a bonus chapter update.
> 
> So you'll get this today, want to kill me, then get the next chapter tomorrow like usual for a positive end to the week!

The week seemed to stretch on forever. He didn’t have much specialized brewing to do Monday or Tuesday, and should have been delighted with all the time to work on his own projects. But that meant paper revisions while potions rested, and rater than checking for comma splices, he most often found himself thinking about the fact that Hermione would be spending the night with him Friday. So caught up in his thoughts was he that a cauldron nearly simmered over as he thought about whether he should invest in a new set of sheets, weighing the decision between sexy satin and soft flannel when he heard the burner sizzle.

Nearly burning a potion had been enough to put his head back into work for the rest of the day; he hadn’t burned a potion in decades. Though time passed slowly, it did pass productively at least.

Wednesday he’d planned a quick breeze-through of the shop to deliver holiday bonuses--quite generous this year, he thought, since it had been a busy one--and see that space had been readied for the new computer. Instead, he found himself caught up in assisting with a few batches of last minute brewing. There had been a rush on SoberUp when people realized that their shop would be closed between Christmas and New Year to everything but emergency orders, and so several gallons of the potion had been necessary to keep up with demand. He’d barely had time to slip away for a take-away coffee with Hermione, who’d seemed no less busy than he had, though he thought he certainly appeared less frazzled than she had, with curly wisps of hair escaping her attempted plait. They’d both been able to take the half hour away from their businesses to enjoy some caffeinated peace together, before jumping back in their respective maelstroms. It had not been enough for either of them, and that only made him realize how deeply he felt about her. 

He’d been so caught up in his thoughts about her that he’d barely remembered to buy new sheets before heading home.

Thursday was also spent at Specialized Potion Solutions, but this time without even the promise of a small escape of coffee with Hermione. Instead, he and Miss Rushcliffe worked with Beth Prewitt to install two computers, one in her office and one in his. Most of the afternoon had been taken up in setting them up to communicate properly, and showing them once again how to use the programs involved. 

All went according to plan, until they began booting up the computer in Severus’s office. The silver box whirred and squealed, until the young woman looked at it alarmingly. 

“Can you cast a stasis?” She asked, already pulling out one of those little mobiles like Hermione carried.

He pointed his wand precisely at the computer box, and all noise from it ceased. Fifteen minutes later, Hermione arrived, marching up the stairs with another silver box floating behind her like a geometrically odd balloon. She settled it next to the prior box, and cast  _ finite _ at it. His spell clung for a moment before releasing, and the whirring increased in pitch alarmingling until she cast a few more spells at it that he didn’t understand.

“You can take this one back to the office, Beth. The wards in here were stronger than Oswin realized and the boards started arcing. I’ll get this one set.”

He dismissed Miss Rushcliffe when it became clear she was no longer needed to complete their task. But it took another hour of him dropping his office wards, then incrementally raising them as Hermione layered on spellwork for the computer to flare to life as the one in his manager’s office had done.

Finally, she turned to him with a smile and a twinkle in her eye. “We might have needed to tell Os who you actually were. He didn’t adequately compensate for the strength of your magic or the complexity of your warding.”

“Obviously.”

“Tomorrow,” she began, then paused and tapped on a few keys, “I may need to allot a little more time to setup, assuming your home wards are significantly more complex than those here.”

“Indeed they are. I presume you’ve already accommodated the fidelius and unplottability.”

“Those were the first things we tackled, and the toughest. I’ll check things over tomorrow before coming over and make sure we’ve increased the charm work enough, though.”

“What time are you arriving?” He blinked at the screen, which was resolving itself into a bland picture of a grassy meadow.

“Early afternoon. I need to do some work in the morning, and I want to give myself plenty of time to make sure things are operational for you.”

“Is there anything particular you’d like for dinner? I’m giving Nella a half day as well, so if you’d like any baking done—“

“Oh, no, don’t trouble her. Whatever you’d like is fine.” She let her hand rest on his momentarily, then cleared her throat and fluttered her hand at the screen. “So we’re up and running now.”

And she’d spent the next hour in professional mode, guiding him through everything he’d need to not work in his office. She’d not had time for anything more than that, having too much business to finish up before beginning her holiday. They’d had to make do with a few sizzling kisses that left him catching his breath as she skipped down the stairs. Only when he’d felt the flush fade from his cheeks and his respiration return to normal did he apparate back home without fear of splinching.

Friday morning dawned grey and misty as had most days in December. That should have left him chilled, but after a walk through the garden with his morning tea, he only felt refreshed. Hermione was coming, and had strongly implied that she’d be spending the night. There was very little to do; he’d already worked with Nella to tidy his office in preparation for the computer’s arrival, and the house was always kept neat. He decided instead to put on a coat, and spend his morning working in the garden.

Before lunch, he managed to clear out the last of the prior year’s plantings and turn over the compost heap with the newly added material. He could have done most of the work magically, of course, but there was something to be said for the physical labor, and especially for the distraction it provided. Noting the height of the sun in the sky, he headed in to shower and change out of gardening wear. 

For the first time since the adaptations made to his wardrobe in his transformation into Rus Prince, he seriously contemplated the clothing he was choosing, wondering what the proper balance of business meeting and evening that would presumably end in bed was. Ultimately, he selected a black cashmere jumper and dark denims. He spared himself a look in the mirror, assessing himself rather than simply checking for glamours—he would be employing none of those today. The relief he felt at that was nearly overwhelming.

He could just be himself with her today, comfortable and quietly at home. He’d long ago abandoned any hope of finding anyone with whom he could enjoy that, and had thought he’d made peace with his quiet solitude. But the more time he spent with Hermione, the more he enjoyed having company, having a companion, even if they were merely sitting and reading by the fire. That was what had been missing in his life, what he’d been longing for in his loneliness.

Descending to the kitchen, he peered at the pear tart that Nella had prepared and was now cooling on the counter next to where he prepared himself a simple sandwich lunch. Then he began dinner preparations, hoping to just be able to put it in the oven when they were ready to eat. In deference to her dietary preferences, he was attempting a vegetarian lasagna for the first time. It wasn’t so different than the traditional meat recipe he was accustomed to preparing, and he hoped she would find it as delicious.

As he was sprinkling the last of the grated cheese on top, his wards alerted him to an arrival in the garden. It could only be her; she was the only one the wards would let through, besides himself and Nella. Looking out the window, he saw her swathed in a heavy cloak, a small trunk floating behind her. The thought that she might be planning to stay for the weekend was momentarily alarming, yet delightful. Then he realized she was here first on business, and that it probably contained all the necessary equipment for that process, much as the crates that had arrived a Specialized Potion Solutions yesterday.

He met her at the door, after casting a hasty  _ stasis _ on the lasagna. She was pink-cheeked from the winter chill, and both her cloak and hair were whipping around her in the wind. Heedless of that, he pulled her close and greeted her with a kiss, which deepened to the point that he’d forgotten they were standing outside in the frigid air until her chilly fingers trailed up his shirt and touched his neck. He jerked back with a gasp, and she looked horrified, then giggled. Glowering, he stepped to the side and ushered her into the house, trunk following behind her.

“Happy Solstice, Severus!” She turned to him, whirling off her cloak with a grace that stirred him in a way he never would have expected. He took it from her and hung it, while admiring the green cable knit jumper and camel skirt that accented all of the very best things about her curves and her hair.

“Beautiful.” It was out of his mouth before his brain fully formed the thought, and for half a second he wished he could take it back. Then she smiled and stepped back towards him, stretching up to kiss his cheek.

“Thanks. You’re looking awfully dapper yourself.” Her fingers trailed down the soft material of his jumper as she gazed up at him.

He lost himself in another kiss, forgetting there were better places for kissing than his boot room, forgetting there was anything other than her delicious body pressed against him as if she could become conjoined with him. Her arms snaked around his back, tracing runes until his muscles relaxed and he feared he might melt into the tile floor.

“We—“ she panted, trying to catch her breath. “We should take care of the computer first. Or I fear we’ll never get around to it.”

“Yes,” he said, stepping back and squaring his shoulders. They were both adults who could control themselves, and had business to attend to first. Yet he still held her hand as he led her down the hall to the office.

He’d cleared a spot on his desk, and as soon as he pointed it out to her, she went right to work. While she did, he sat down with the latest potions journal, ostensibly reading an article on the efficacy of Pacific versus Atlantic sea urchin spines, but mostly just watching her work. There was, of course, the merely physical aspect of watching the curve of her arse as she bent down to deal with something under the desk and in the trunk. But more than that was her quiet efficiency and confidence in what she was doing, her ease with herself--it was beguiling.

She caught him watching her, too. And the saucy woman just  _ winked _ at him and continued with her work, with a little exaggerated wiggle of her bum the next time she retrieved something from the trunk. 

It was impossible to concentrate on the article, even if it had been well written rather than the usual drivel.

“Severus?” He blinked at the sound of her voice, noting that she was settled on his desk chair in a most familiar fashion.

“Finished already?”

“No, now the difficult part. I need you to lower your wards, as you did at the office yesterday, and bring them back up gradually. Telling me what you’re doing with them as you raise them. I want to make sure the system holds.”

He hadn’t fully dropped the wards on the property since moving in. They were complex, and re-raising them all would be a timely process. “All of them?”

“The fidelius and unplottability can remain. I’ve already accounted for those, but having felt the spellwork here, I’m sure I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

And she did. It took most of the afternoon, with him slipping into the kitchen and fixing up a tea tray midway through, before she had the computer up and running. From there it was simply a matter of going through the same setup they’d done the prior day at the offices. He brewed another pot of tea at that point, and they finished up the installation with a celebratory cup of his personal chai mix.

“This tastes different than what you brought me.”

“There is more pepper and cardamom, but less ginger. Which blend do you prefer?” 

She took another sip and held it, closing her eyes, before swallowing. “The one you made me, I think, but I like this amount of cardamom.”

“I shall take that into account next time I prepare it for you.” It was one of the few things he’d thought to perhaps give her for Christmas, and duly filed away the changes he’d make for her. “It is early yet, and we have been at this all afternoon. Would you care for a walk?”

Stretching, she stood. “A stroll around your garden sounds lovely. I’ve been so busy with work these last few weeks I haven’t been exercising enough.”

“We can venture further than the garden if you’d like. It is called Orchard House for a reason--there are several acres of old fruit trees surrounding us.”

“What do you do with all of that?” she asked as they headed back for the boot room.

“They no longer produce well, which is why the muggles who lived here gave it up. Nella and I harvest some of it, as it’s suitable for baking. But mostly it’s left to nature.” He helped her back into her cloak, and they stepped out into the brisk afternoon.

It was no longer blustery in the garden, but a cool breeze greeted them as he ushered her out the door in the garden wall and into the remnants of the orchards. She stayed close beside him, hands finding their way through the folds of wool enveloping both of them to clasp his arm. That grip warmed him more than any charm could, and he enjoyed the proximity of her. As they progressed in their walk, he tried to keep her on the leeward side of him, content to just ramble though acreage he hadn’t given much recent attention. 

When a gnarled root nearly tripped her, his arms were around her instantly, catching her and pulling her up to him. Though no worse for the wear, she wrapped her arms around him as well, gazing up with flushed cheeks and warm eyes. Time seemed to freeze, then they were kissing, lips meeting and tongues tangling, teeth occasionally nipping and teasing. He traced the edge of her jaw with tiny kisses, nibbled on the lobe of her ear before tracing the curve of it with his tongue as she moaned. 

“You are everything I didn’t realize I was missing,” he found himself whispering to her. What was it about her that made these sentiments surface, unbidden, to his lips, when for so long he’d contained his every thought and impulse. With her, it was nearly impossible.

Her fingers threaded through his hair and pulled his ear down to her lips, where she returned his nibble, and kissed his temple. “And you are what I’ve been seeking and thought I’d never find.” 

He turned them and pressed her back against one of the gnarled old pear trees. Leaning in, he continued kissing her, lips trailing as far down her neck as their heavily-clothed states would allow. While she eagerly returned the kisses, and her clever fingers found their way through his cloak to rest on his waist, drawing him even closer to her. As much as her skirt would permit, her left leg rose, and wrapped around him, pulling him into the cradle of her hips. The feel of her against him was like a spark, and he was slowly alighting with nothing but passion for her as she writhed against him and the world melted away to nothing but the two of them. 

Then he noticed that her movements against him were something more than arousal, as she shifted almost continuously. “Hermione?” he whispered into her ear, before pulling back far enough to study her face.

“It’s--” she tried to catch her breath, still holding on firmly to his waist to steady herself. “This blasted tree isn’t especially comfortable.”

“Shit! I’m sorry, we can--”

“It’s all right, Severus.” She leaned forward, off the tree, and found his lips again. “Let’s head back inside, though?”

“As the lady wishes.” Though he knew she meant the leisurely stroll back to the house, he had a better idea, and pulled her away from the tree, into his embrace, and apparated them both, hoping he was not being too presumptive.


	18. Chapter 17 - December 21, 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is what y'all have been patiently waiting for :)

He stepped them out of the apparition into the warmth of his bedroom. Before even letting go of her, he’d wandlessly and wordlessly lit the fire in the grate and a few of the candles in the sconces. Only then did he relax his embrace of her, though she seemed disinclined to step too far back from him. Rather, she settled herself flat on the floor without leaving the circle of his arms, and turned to take in his bedroom.

It was an old house, but he thought the rooms homey and comfortable, with honey-colored wood floors that he’d covered in soft, slate blue rugs, and overstuffed blue damask chairs by the fireplace. Exposed beams crossed overhead, and a comfortable walnut bed occupied the far wall, next to mullioned windows with views out over the garden and orchard. 

She sighed, and relaxed back against his chest. His arms came around her once more, and he kissed the crown of her head.

“I hope I was not too presumptive.” He leaned down further, kissing her temple.

“Not at all,” she answered, fingers working at the clasp of her cloak. He reached up and took over the task, fingers tracing along her clavicle, over the thick knit of her sweater. With barely a thought, he sent both their cloaks and the thick sweater to rest, folded neatly, over the fireside chair. She was left in just a camisole, and goosebumps ran up her arms until he chased them away with his own warm hands. They trailed across her collarbones again, smooth flesh marred only by the edge of a scar that he traced with one finger down, below the edge of her camisole to the edge of a breast, which he cupped and stroked lightly until she sighed and arched into his touch.

Her hands found his forearms, teasing at the edge of his luxurious sweater. Then, before he realized what was happening, she’d vanished it to the chair with her own, and turned in his embrace to smile up at him. Few were especially skilled with both wandless and nonverbal magic, but it did not surprise him to realize that the brilliant witch in his arms was quite capable and handy with both.

Then he forgot everything but pure physical desire as her hands and lips trailed across his chest. Delicate fingers curled through thin chest hair, her tongue teased at one nipple then the other, before following a scar up his sternum. He breathed deeply and his eyes fell closed, lost in the sensation of her touch on his true skin; it had been years since anyone had seen him like this, without being heavily glamoured. It felt nearly overwhelming, and his breath caught before racing on.

He pulled her with him towards the bed, vanishing both their boots and socks as they crossed the room so that he could fall back into the downy bedding and let her tumble along with him. Hermione settled astride his thighs, her skirt rucking up above her knees, hair tumbling out of the loose style she’d had it partially twisted into and covering much of her shoulders and upper chest. Reaching up, he twisted his hands through it, teasing at the curls that seemed to capture his fingers, and pulled her down for more kisses; she came eagerly, with a little hum of contentment an a nip at the tip of his nose that should have offended him but instead made him smile, so that her tongue more easily found its way between his lips. 

As they kissed, he pulled the camisole from the waistband of her skirt, and traced the arc of her spine, finding the clap of her bra and undoing it, then vanished it all sloppily into a heap somewhere across the room. Now was not the time for magical finesse with domestic chores, but he did allow a few of the candles he’d lit to flicker out, dimming the room a bit. But even in the lower light, as their bared chests met, he could feel and see the scar he’d traced moments ago, nearly bisecting her torso.

Gently, his fingers traced it down, across her shoulder and breast and stomach, her whole body seeming to vibrate under his touch. “You kept this glamoured as well?”

“You’re only the second person who’s seen it.” She kissed his jaw, lips trailing down until they found the sensitive scarring on his neck. The barest breath on it sent a shockwave through him--no one had seen it, paid it any mind--then gentle, open mouthed kisses until he was nearly whimpering, hands kneading at her hips.

Her hips were meeting the roll of his, though, pressing them together through what were still too many layers of clothing. They thought to vanish it all at the same moment, and there was a flash and crackle of magic as they were suddenly naked but laughing at the sizzle of their combined magics. 

“Great minds think alike, I suppose,” she murmured into his ear once her giggles were under control. 

His own laughter was short-lived, as he felt the press of her hot skin against him, the curve of her hip pressing so delightful against his now very eager cock. “Yes,” he practically moaned into her throat, lips caressing the edge of her jaw. Then, as he slid his hand down her back to stroke the delicious flesh of her arse, she arched into him with a moan of her own, the heat of her grazing his balls.

Every primal instinct in his brain was howling at him to roll her over and slam himself inside. But he was practiced in self-restraint, and wanted this to last, and be equally enjoyable for both of them. Kissing her lips once more, he pressed his head back into the pillows, staring up at her as he stroked the backs of her thighs, which seemed to be driving her mad from the way she was writhing against him, trying to edge his fingers just a bit higher. 

“Is there anything you particularly like?” He let his thumbs drift that fraction higher that she’d been trying for, feeling the heat and wetness already there, if not quite ready. 

“Oh,” she moaned, pressing herself back into his fingers as if she might impale herself then and there, then blinking slowly at him, with wide, barely-focused eyes. “Yes. I actually like it from behind. But not,” she said, stretching back up to kiss him with just a hint of a blush, “not this time. I want to see you.”

That information he could work with, later. Not now, though, because he very much wanted to see her, too. “Next time, then. What about...this?” Hand sliding back down her thighs, he caught her legs and pulled her up his body, with a slight squeal, until she was positioned just over his chin, so close that his breath tickled the sparse hair at the apex of her legs.

“Yes, oh yes.” Her eyes fell closed and she rolled her hips forward, meeting his searching lips. Continuing to fall forward, she braced her hands over his head, against the headboard, where he could look up into her face even as his tongue worked between her legs.

This lacked the advantage of being able to see what he was getting himself into, but his tongue was tactile enough, and she was responsive enough, that it was no great mystery when he found her clit on the third stroke between her increasingly lubricated folds. Ever the researcher, he varied his approach, broad swipes and quick flicks, a quick graze with the very edge of his teeth, until he found a rhythm that she seemed to fall into as well, eyes rolling back and closed and hips rocking in time with him.

He’d forgotten how good a woman could taste, and he savored her, as she took her pleasure with him. That was helpful, too, for he was rather out of practice at this, enthusiastic though he might be about it. Being attentive helped, though, as he followed her reactions, met her rhythm, as her breathing accelerated into heady cries of delight. Then, as he captured her clit between his lips and sucked, she froze, muscles taut and breath catching, spine bowing her into him momentarily before collapsing away, panting and refusing further attempts at contact.

“Merlin.” Her breasts were rising and falling with each heaved breath, and her eyes were glassy as she reached down to stroke his hair and face. “That was a first...but...you can put this position on the ‘especially like’ list.”

He barked out a laugh and pulled her down for a kiss, interrupted only by her deep breaths. As she slid down his body, he became more aware of his own arousal, half-forgotten in his enjoyment of her. As soon as the soft flesh of her thigh slid down across his cock, though, he gasped, breaking their kiss and arcing up into her. At that, she pushed further down his body, until she could stroke him; he stilled her hand almost instantly--he desperately wanted her touch but it was too stimulating. She seemed to understand, however, releasing him with a sultry smile and repositioning herself over him, until her hot wet center was stroking his length.

There was nothing more he wanted than to thrust up. “Potion? Charm?” he managed to pant out, fingers stroking down her abdomen to brush across her mons. 

“Potion. From your shop.” Her voice was getting breathy again, as she tilted her hips and he was sure she was rubbing her clit down his cock.

He murmured the charm anyway--he might trust the potions from his shop more than most, but in this circumstance, he wouldn’t totally trust one he hadn’t personally brewed--as his hand slid across her abdomen to her hip, aiding her in rising over him, adjusting her angle. Taking himself in hand, he slid a finger through her folds, lining himself up until he was positioned just at her entrance, the sensitive head of his cock pressing firmly into her welcoming heat.

She didn’t wait long, sinking down and slightly back onto him with a moan of delight that matched his own as she took all of him in with one long glide. When he was deeper than he’d ever felt like he’d been before, she shimmied her hips and seemed to sink a little further, eyes opening wide and looking down at him. 

“Sweet Nimue,” he managed, as she shimmied again, seeming to search for the angle she wanted while tightening around him, the most delicious torture he’d ever experienced. Letting his eyes roll shut, he took a slow breath and tried to get his feelings under control, or he’d end up finishing in two thrusts--which was the last thing he wanted, better than this never end.

Then her fingers were there, bushing across his face, followed by feathery light kisses, hot puffs of her breath caressing his skin between, until she rolled her hips and moaned right into his ear. As she began searching for a rhythm against him, he tried his best to meet her, thrusting slowly and steadily, with a little roll at the end she seemed to appreciate if the hitch in her breathing was any indication. Watching her was its own treat, as her hair tumbled madly around her and her pupils were blown wide with delight. 

As she arched up, leveraging herself against his chest, fingers digging in a bit, her breast brushed past his face. On the downstroke, he moved quickly and caught the nipple between his lips, sucking lightly before flicking his tongue over it. She seemed to like that, too, pressing herself closer to his mouth with a little pant. His hands found their way across her arse and to her hips, helping her maintain her pace, hoping she was close again.

Apparently she was, because it was barely a dozen thrusts before she was tightening around him and the nails of one hand dug almost painfully into his chest as the other came up to hold his head to her breast. He did his best to accommodate her pleasure, suckling at her and trying to keep up his own rhythmic thrusts as her orgasm pulled him along, too. She collapsed against him, clinging as he rode out his own release.

It felt like hours later until he stirred again, but it couldn’t have been very long--the sun still hadn’t set, though it was beginning to bathe the bedroom in a warm glow. She was still sprawled across his body, peaceful and half-asleep, but she rolled to one side as soon as she felt him stirring.

“Sorry.”

“What could you possibly have to be sorry for?” He rolled towards her and stroked down the curve of her waist.

“For waking you.”

He kissed her, which she returned after a moment of surprise. “Hunger would have roused me anyway. What’s wrong?”

“Absolutely nothing.” She shook her head and pecked the end of his nose. “I just didn’t peg you for a cuddler.”

The involuntary souring of his expression at the word couldn’t be helped. But it transitioned into a frown, then, “I have not had much occasion to  _ cuddle. _ Under the right circumstances, however, it can be pleasant.”

“Pleasant may be underselling things a bit,” she teased, burrowing her nose into his neck, then kissing it.

“You seem reinvigorated. Would you like dinner?”

“You cooked for me again?” She was smiling, her chin resting on his chest. It felt as if he might prefer just laying here forever.

“It is not technically cooked yet. I have prepared dinner, it just needs to go in the oven.”

“Mmm. I have worked up quite an appetite.”

He summoned their clothing over from the fireside seat where they’d banished it earlier, and after dressing, they descended to the kitchen. While he went to work getting the lasagna in the oven, Hermione drifted around, eventually opening some wine and pouring them both glasses. Once their dinner was cooking, they retired to the library.

They settled into the chairs by the fireplace where he’d so enjoyed spending time the other week. For a few minutes, they silently sipped their wine, and he basked in a contentment he’d perhaps never known in his life. There was no awkwardness in their silence, just ease that they both seemed to appreciate, and it held until the timer he’d set for their dinner alerted him.

When he returned with their food, she’d transfigured the side table into a larger table they could share between the chairs, and they ate quietly as well, broken only by a few compliments on his cooking and segueing into an easy conversation on previous travel in Italy.

“Would you consider going with me?” he found himself asking.

“When? It’s a difficult time of year--”

“Not immediately. January. I usually take a holiday for my birthday.” The idea of her joining him and been impulsive, but he thought he might enjoy traveling with her.

“Depending on the dates, I’d love to see if I can make it work. I have a conference the last end of the month in Munich.” Her face scrunched in displeasure, presumably at the idea of Munich in winter. “Where?”

“There are a few rare potions manuscripts I’d like to reference in the Medici Library in Florence. Would the second week in January work for you?”

“Most likely.”

They continued with a bit of planning for the potential trip--which resulted in more than a few volumes flying off the shelves and zipping between the two of them--before banishing books and bowls and everything else back where it belonged and retiring to bed for the night. There’d been no discussion of that, she merely agreed that it was time to retire and wrapped an arm around him before they made their way back upstairs. 

This time they took their time disrobing one another, clothes scattering across the bedroom floor before they finally tumbled into bed in a frenzied tangle of limbs. When they finally fell asleep this time, they slept soundly through the night.

  
  
  



	19. Chapter 18 - December 22, 2012

The first golden rays of morning were illuminating the room when he woke, with the odd sensation of being more warm and cozy than usual. His bed was comfortable, and he usually slept well and woke rested, but there was something different this morning. Shifting, he realized that it wasn’t just the new flannel sheets or the duvet pulled up nearly to his nose, but the warm, naked body he was wrapped around--Hermione Granger.

She was still dead to the world, not quite snoring but breathing heavily, hair a dark riot across the pale blue pillows. Cautiously, he pressed himself closer against her, trying not to wake her--not yet. As he did so, he realized that he was already half-aroused, hips rolling into her plush arse without conscious thought. Part of his brain, long accustomed to loneliness and disappointment, expected her to leap out of bed and hex him before storming out the door. 

What happened, though, was that she nestled further back against him, his cock wedged delightfully into the crack of her arse, emitting something that might have been a hum, or perhaps even a pur. A noise of contentment, certainly.

She had told him she liked it from behind. This would certainly be the right positioning for that, though he’d never tried this specific position before. Perhaps, when she woke, she’d have some idea how to best go about it. 

So he set about finding the most pleasant way to wake her.

First, he combed back her hair from her face, curls catching his fingers like devil’s snare, until it exposed her neck. His fingers traced across her shoulder and up her neck, lightly at first, then with a firmer pressure, and his lips followed, niping just at the juncture of neck and shoulder, and up to nibble at her earlobe until she hummed again, stirring in his embrace. 

As she pressed herself back into him, he murmured, “Good morning.” Still sleepy and aroused, his voice was almost that of his old self.

“Oh, it certainly is.”

He felt his heart stutter a beat, unsure how he came to be so lucky as to have this brilliant, beautiful witch happily waking up beside him. Then all higher thought fled as her hand captured his, pulling it up from her hip to cup her breast. She showed him what she liked, guiding his hand to knead tenderly before spirling his fingers closer and closer around her areola to her nipple, already hardening to meet his careful pressure. But he listened to what her own fingers were telling him, applying more pressure, nearly pinching, until she gasped and he eased back, stroking again, reaching down to repeat the pattern on the other breast as she let go of his hand to reach back to his hip, pulling him even tighter against her.

Both of them groaned as he ground into her, and he pinched her nipple harder than he’d previously dared. His teeth trailed down the curve of her neck, and he nipped at her shoulder, tasting the salt of the prior night’s sweat, before asking, “More?”

His fingers feathered down from her breast to brush against her abdomen, indicating the direction of his offer.

“Please.”

Severus wasted no time in answering her plea, fingers gliding down through the trim hair at the apex of her legs as she spread them wider, hooking one back over his. Now, he took his time exploring her folds, mapping the topography of her, listening to and feeling her response to him. When he finally slipped one finger inside, she was already on the cusp, clenching around the digit as his thumb circled her clit.

“Please, Severus,” she panted, and ground back against his rock hard cock. He was in full agreement with the sentiment.

Pausing his attentions, he asked, “How best--?”

“Like this.” She shifted and broke contact with his hand, but gyrated her lower body until she was able to reach back between them and wrap her hand around him, tugging his firmness a bit as she repositioned him between her legs, the head of his cock already squishing into her wet labia. He helped her open herself and met her shift backward with his own tentative thrust. 

He wasn’t even halfway in, but already knew this would become a favorite position of his as well--she felt exquisitely welcoming and he had free access to touch all of her, hands not being needed for leverage. Her answering hum of delight as he pressed in further only cemented this as a new favorite. Hands now free, his fingers found their way back to her clit, stroking in counterpoint to the steady, shallow stroke of his cock. 

As he pushed just a little deeper, she gasped. “There! Oh --there, oh there.”

Not being one to argue in such circumstances, he did just as his lady asked. Between that spot that seemed to drive her arousal into another gear and his thumb at her clit, she came faster than he’d expected, hands capturing his and holding him tight and still.

When her muscles relaxed, he began slowly stroking in and out of her again, and she met him with renewed enthusiasm, clenching her internal muscles around him each time he entered her.

“Merlin, Hermione…” he growled, thrusting deeper with a snap of his hips and resuming his attention to her clit, trying to pull her along with him into another orgasm, but was worried he wouldn't be able to. 

Mercifully, she pushed his hand away and took over for herself. He wanted to study exactly what she was doing so he could replicate it every time he touched her but in the moment, it was too much for even him to process. He brought a hand up to her breast, teasing at her nipple again. She knew just what she’d needed, and was coming again in minutes, contracting around him and pressing back against him.

He followed her mere heartbeats later, groaning in ecstasy and release as he pulled her back against him, grinding deep into her. There was something deeply satisfying about coming buried inside her as she was still in the throes of her own orgasm. Sex had always been enjoyable, of course, but never in the way it already was with her. 

They both lay, joined and still capturing their breaths, hands finding one another and fingers twining together. Once again, the two of them seemed to rest easily in silence, content to simply be together. Eventually, though they had to move, and he felt disappointment as his soft cock slipped from her with a gush of fluids.

“Shower?” he offered, gesturing towards the door in the corner.

“Definitely. Join me?” She stood, hair tumbling down her bare back like a siren, and reached back for him. 

It was a call he could not refuse. He rose, feeling long-unused muscles protesting as he did so, and caught her hand. Trailing just behind her, he followed her into the bathroom, setting the shower steaming as she disappeared into the loo in the far corner. When she returned to join him under the hot stream, he was thankful for the massive showhead he’d installed, thinking it would be good for his aching muscles, but now appreciated for the way it covered both of their bodies.

They stood under the soothing spray for several minutes before he reached for sponges and his homemade soap. As they washed one another they explored one another’s bodies, without expectation of further sexual activity, just becoming more familiar with each other, no glamours between them any more. He knew there were more scars on his body that she’d expected, from the way her eyes widened and she’d sighed tenderly before running her soapy fingers down his damaged chest, cleaning every inch of him with careful precision. 

Then he’d returned the favor, teasing just a bit at the tender flesh between her legs, enough to realize that they were both perhaps a little too sore and oversensitized for anything further this morning. That did not stop him from attending to her in other ways, though; he found her reaction to his shampooing of her hair, little moans that echoed off the tiles, to be quite alluring and vowed to repeat the activity as often as possible. When she returned the favor, he very much understood her response, as her fingers kneaded at his scalp and he was elevated to a realm of ecstasy he hadn’t known was possible outside of a sexual situation.

Eventually dried and dressed, and they made their way downstairs, where Nella had left tea under a stasis and a platter of fresh scones on the counter. They ate in pleasurable silence for a few minutes, allowing the caffeine to take effect and enjoying the apple cinnamon pastries.

“What are your weekend plans?” he finally inquired. Though he would be delighted for her to remain naked in his bed for the entirety of the time between now and the return to work after New Years, he knew that was not to be. And some time and distance were necessary for him, too, to sort out the complex emotions swirling through him.

“Much as I’d enjoy relaxing here with you and your library, I fear that I have to return to deal with panicked last minute Christmas shoppers.”

“You could delegate such tasks.”

“As you’ve done?” She raised her brows at him as she sipped her tea.

“Indeed. Aside from an emergency order from St. Mungo’s, I am free to enjoy the holiday as I see fit.”

“Fireside with a cuppa does sound like a lovely way to spend an afternoon. But my operations here are still too new for that. New York is managing, so maybe next year I’ll be free to indulge with you.”

That sounded perfect to him, and the thought that she would still want to settle in by the fire with him this time next year sounded like all he could wish for. “You will still be free to meet on Christmas Eve?”

“Absolutely. Would you like to come to my place? I’d like to cook for you, for a change.”

“Do not feel that you must--”

“Oh, don’t. I want to make the full holiday spread, then eat leftovers all week. Well, the good bits, turkey and potatoes and mince pie. I don’t actually care for cranberry sauce. Though if you do, I can certainly--”

“I am indifferent to it. While cranberry has essential applications in potioneering, I do not require it for Christmas dinner.” He cut off her nervous rambling.

“Perfect.” Her whole face seemed to glow with delight. “Come for dinner and...stay? I’ll have to be up and out on Christmas to be at Harry and Ginny’s by noon for lunch, but…”

“Yes.”

That seemed adequate for the both of them, smiling at each other as he passed her another scone. Their conversation turned back to travel plans, before she cocked her head at the sound of the grandfather clock. 

“That clock is wonderful. Surprisingly muggle.”

“It came with the house. It took some spellwork to get it working properly.”

She smiled and shook her head. “I should go, though.”

“I wish you didn’t have to.” He caught her hand, and kissed the back of it.

“Me too. But I’ll see you soon.” Rising, she leaned over and kissed him, deeply, tasting of the tea. The kiss lingered as she withdrew slowly, lips seeming to separate in slow motion. When they finally did, she smiled, and reached up to ruffle his hair.

He scowled. “I will see you Christmas Eve.”

As she slipped out the garden door, he watched through the window, then he saw her little wave, and heard her apparition echo off the brick walls. He sat gazing out the window where she’d disapparated, taking in the empty garden beds and bright blue sky. A walk might do him good, to stretch out sore muscles, clear his head to think about how he wanted this relationship to progress. Because a progression now seemed inevitable, and quite desired.

A wave of his wand sent the dishes to the sink and the remaining scones to a container. Then he headed out into the garden, and out the door into the orchard where they’d walked the night before. The day was brisk, and he cast a warming charm over himself as he trekked through the trees, feeling his body loosen up under the mild exercise and the charm.

It occurred to him that he would have to find her a better Christmas gift than mere tea, too. There was no way he was venturing into Diagon Alley, or even to London; he wanted nothing to do with panicked, last-minute holiday shoppers, even if he was one himself. Not panicked, though; he would not panic over such a simple thing as a gift. But he thought that not realizing the need earlier was a massive failing on his part. 

He would right that failure, as a proper next step in the progress of their relationship. Hopefully a longer walk would help him figure out just how he might do that. Turning away from the house, he walked deeper into the orchard, lost in thoughts of Hermione.

  
  
  



	20. Chapter 19 - December 24, 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that we've arrived at the smutty bits, there seems to be rather a lot of it. Oops?

Severus spent far longer than he would admit to anyone pondering exactly what time was too early to arrive for dinner. He’d have been on her doorstep in time for lunch, but he knew noon was far too early. Around four, he finally shrunk his gifts—thankfully Nella had been eager to aid him in wrapping— and tucked them into pockets of his cloak, then finally departed for Hermione’s home. He was greeted with a wreath of pine and holly on the door, and twinkling white lights--lit in midafternoon!--dangling over the windows.

With a great deal of restraint, he refrained from short-circuiting the fairy lights. Doing so would probably short out the whole block, anyway, and then they’d have no peace with all the neighbors mucking about, trying to figure out what was wrong. And he most definitely wanted a quiet, peaceful evening with the woman he loved.

The thought pulled him up short as he was raising a hand to knock on the door. He knew the sentiment, unbidden thought it had come to him, was an accurate reflection of his feelings, though not one he’d thought to arrive at on her doorstep on Christmas Eve. This relationship was not something he’d entered into lightly, and knew she took seriously as well. Was this the right time to express such a sentiment? Surely the holiday lent itself to such things.

His train of thought was abruptly derailed by the opening of the front door, revealing the witch herself. “Sorry, I felt the wards, but I was waiting on the oven timer—darn it!—“

He heard a distant beeping, as she darted back into the house towards it. Why she seemed to be cooking the muggle way he didn’t want to question, when her distraction with it kept her from asking why he’d been standing on her stoop without knocking for a good two minutes. Closing the door behind him and hanging his coat on the rack in the entry, he followed her back to the kitchen.

It smelled similar to the Hogwarts holiday feasts, but in a much more intimate way, filling her kitchen-diner with roasting bird and various spices and herbs in a way that the Great Hall never truly was. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and bottle that smell and stay here forever.

“May I be of assistance?” He needed a task desperately, before he blurted out something ridiculous, or urged her to abandon dinner in favor of a shag on the island.

“Um.” She spun around, for a moment revealing a glimpse of the always-harried student she’d once been as she cast about for a task for him. “Wine? There’s a bottle of Beaujolais Nouveau somewhere in the rack.” 

Following the briefly-pointed finger, he found a modestly stocked wine rack and found the the bottle easily, and made short work of opening it and pouring a glass for her as well as himself. When he handed the wine to her, she put down the casserole dish she was holding and seemed to sink into him as she sipped the wine.

“Thank you, I think I needed that.”

“You look...busy. How else might I help?” He had ideas he’d like to suggest to help relieve her obvious stress, but none of them were conducive to them actually eating dinner.

Instead of answering immediately, she turned into him, rising up on her toes and capturing his lips in a kiss. He deepened it, tongue slipping between her lips and his arms wrapping around her, pulling her closer to him until they were flush together and the room seemed to melt away.

Too soon, though, she pulled back, with a final quick kiss on his chin. “I just have to pop this in the oven. Then we have an hour.”

“That’s not nearly long enough for what I had in mind.”

Smiling slyly, she seemed to take an excessive amount of time bent over, sliding the casserole dish into the oven. The minx even waggled her bum at him as she stood and closed the oven door.

“I’m sure we can find some way to spend the time.” She leaned back against the counter, then slowly raised herself up to sit on the edge of the counter.

Perhaps she was indeed thinking along the same line he had been upon entering the kitchen. He wasted no time in stepping between her open knees, unerringly meeting her lips. Her legs encircled his hips, drawing him even closer, opening her lips and tracing her tongue along his bottom lip as if begging entry.

Who was he to deny her? He opened his mouth to her, and brought his hands to her hips, fingers grazing her arse, pulling her to him, wishing she was wearing her usual skirt and not denims. Magic was always handy for such predicaments, though, and both their denims were gone with little more than a thought. Hermione might have gasped, but it was lost in their kisses, and she certainly had no compunction about sliding her hands down from his shoulders where they’d been resting to grab his bum, giving him a squeeze. 

His tumbs grazed the edges of her underwear, festively red, before vanishing them too. One finger trailed down, parting her labia and teasing her entrance, gathering her arousal and swirling it around clitoris until she was no longer able to kiss him, head falling back to bang into the cabinets until he thought to cast a cushioning charm for her. 

“Please,” she panted, “Oh Severus!”

“Like this?”

She shook her head, even as she moaned. “In me. Please, I want you.”

There was no need for her to ask twice, as he vanished his pants and gave himself a few strokes, testing his own readiness. Then he did what he’d wanted to do since she’d left his house days ago, and buried himself in her welcoming heat again, in two quick thrusts. He moaned, too, like some kind of animal, as his head dropped down to rest against her still-clothed shoulder. She was so close, already beginning to tighten around him.

It seemed to take no effort at all to push her over, a dozen thrusts on his part and a carefully applied pressure to her clit, and she was coming around him, pulling him closer to his own release as she convulsed around his cock, drawing him towards the inevitable conclusion. Pulling his hand away from between her legs, he tugged her closer to him, redoubling his pace, hips slamming almost painfully into the edge of the counter. There would be bruises, surely, but he didn’t care about that, only about chasing his own release, burying himself deep inside her with a wail that echoed off the hard surfaces of the kitchen. 

His breathing slowed gradually, and he tilted his head into the stroking of Hermione’s fingers through his hair, almost massaging his scalp. With little effort, he stretched and kissed her neck.

“You’re bloody brilliant.” He moved away from her touch, but nipped her earlobe.

“That accolade belongs to you, I think.” She kissed his cheek. “Brilliant. And attentive.”

“As one should be with their partner.” He kissed her again before shifting away, casting a gentle  _ tergeo _ as he stepped back and tried to remember where he’d sent their clothing.

“ _ Accio _ pants.” She was laughing as she hopped off the counter, seemingly revitalized.

After redressing, she checked the burners and the stove, stirring and rearranging the various pots and dishes. Without asking, he set the table for them, lighting the candles as the timer she’d set for the turkey sounded. They worked in companionable silence to slice and mash and scoop, until they were seated together with full plates and nothing but a smile between them.

“Happy Christmas, Severus.” She raised her glass, and he mirrored the gesture.

“Happy Christmas, Hermione.”

Over dinner, they talked of the plans he’d started to put in place for a trip to Florence. He’d already arranged a portkey that they could take from his home, and begun looking at lodgings for them. Access to the Medici collections was a delicate matter that he was still writing letters negotiating, but she’d had some luck in arranging a private guide to the magical wing of the Uffizi. 

Dinner was delicious, and the mincemeat pies were the perfect note to end on. He always appreciated a good blend of spices, and these were no exception; it was a shame he rarely got to enjoy them beyond Christmas. Telling Hermione of his appreciation brought a delightful flush to her cheeks, as if her cooking had not often been complimented.

Since she’d done the cooking, he sent all the plates and dishes to washing and refilled their wine glasses before they moved to the sitting room, which was decorated in the same muggle manner as the front of her house. A real spruce tree was decorated with more lights and sparkling glass ornaments, bathing the room in a twinkling glow and the aroma of pine. And somewhere behind them, she’d switched on a muggle radio, playing old fashioned holiday tunes that he remembered from the radio of his childhood. Though part of him resisted, deep down he realized that this felt good--spending a quiet holiday evening with the witch he cared about.

As they settled onto the couch, she asked, “Do you usually do gifts Christmas Eve or in the morning?”

The query froze him momentarily. “I--I have not had experience with gifts beyond the day itself.” And rarely then. 

“Well,” she said, tucking her feet up under her as she sat, looking cozy, “in my family we always opened one present Christmas Eve. It was usually new pyjamas.”

He hadn’t even brought pyjamas  _ with _ him--he’d assumed none would be required. Let alone thought to buy them for her. Had she gotten him pyjamas? There weren’t all that many gifts tucked into his robes, either, so he was quietly panicking as he stared at her.

“We can wait til morning, though, if you’d rather.”

Maybe she wasn’t going to make him wear pyjamas to bed. “Yes, I think I’d rather. Breakfast, then gifts.” Then he paused, thinking over what he’d gotten for her. “Though perhaps one small token this evening would not be amiss.”

That had obviously been the answer she’d truly wanted, for her face split in a wide smile and she silently  _ accio’d _ a silvery box decorated in white snowflake ribbon, letting it settle onto the coffee table in front of him. He summoned one of her gifts as well, dropping the modest green parcel directly into her hands.

“Go on.” She smiled and waved at the package she’d given him.

It was the prettiest thing anyone had ever given him, and he was loathe to just rip into the wrappings. Carefully, he untied the sparkling snowflake ribbon--real ribbon, too, not the plasticy stuff--and set it aside, before slipping a finger under the tape and precisely undoing the shiny wrapping paper. It all covered an unassuming brown rectangle which he had less compunction about hastily opening. Inside was something knitted, in a tweedy forest green with rust and tawny accents, which he pulled out carefully, sparing a glance up at her. There was an anticipatory smile on her face as he pulled out the soft gift, unfurling the tidily folded item to reveal a scarf.

The look on her face suddenly made sense. “You made this?”

“Yes. There’s a light warming charm woven into it.”

Most of the gifts he’d received in his life had been the generic sort one received from coworkers at Hogwarts--a bottle of wine, a nice quill, something from Honeydukes--or some overly extravagant Death Eater gifts bestowed by Voldemort and those trying to curry his favor in the last horrible year--rare potions ingredients, Dark texts, useless but precious things he’d long sold. It had been since childhood that he’d been given anything so personal, and even then, it had never been something handmade with such care.

“Thank you.” He wrapped it around his neck, pleased at how soft it was against his scars. Unlikely to irritate his neck, which was rare. “Open yours.”

She looked at him for a beat, then smiled. “It looks good on you.” Reaching up, she tucked one end back over his shoulder, then snatched the other end and tugged him forward for a kiss.

Then she sat back, turning her attention to the gift he’d given her. Nella’s wrapping handiwork was quickly disposed of, in a neat pile on the coffee table. She turned the elaborate wrought silver container in her hands for a minute, studying the craftsmanship--not his--before opening it. The container was spelled to be airtight, and opening it released the piquant aroma of the tea he’d blended for her. It was a sight to behold as she closed her eyes and took a long, deep whiff at the edge of the tin. After two breaths, she opened her eyes straight into his waiting gaze.

“This isn’t the chai you made me before.”

“No. It shares some ingredients, but this is another blend I thought you might appreciate.”

“I do. It smells lovely. Caffeinated?” He nodded. “Shall we have it for breakfast?”

“As you wish.”

A sly look crossed her face. “You know, the sooner you go to sleep, the sooner Santa comes.”

He raised a brow. “Is it Santa who will be coming?”

“That depends on how good you’ve been this year.” She’d somehow nearly straddled his lap without him noticing, no mean feat nor especially pleasurable given that he was in denims with little room for reaction.

“Very good, hopefully.” He wasn’t sure how to continue the metaphor, so he just tangled his hands in her hair and pulled her down into a kiss. 

It was returned with full enthusiasm, as she ground her center into his zipper, so it was with some shock when she abruptly stood and stepped back. Only when she extended a hand to him did he understand her intent. Lights extinguished behind them as they made their way upstairs, both of them stumbling a bit on the stairs as they paid more attention to groping one another like randy teenagers than where their feet were carrying them.

She barely lit any of the lights in her room as they bumbled in, shedding clothes and barely keeping from banging into the doorframe or her wardrobe or the bookcase. They were both already half-naked until they tumbled into the fine white bedding of her large four-poster, looking and feeling nothing at all like the little medieval things from Hogwarts. This had a downy duvet and smooth, crisp sheets, exactly as he’d expect from her, with some small, pale floral design that was practically lost in the low light. 

Not that he cared for what print her sheets might be, when she sprawled on top of them in nothing more than those festive red underthings, which apparently included a matching lacy red bra. He trailed a finger along the frilly edge of it, grinning. 

“While I appreciate the effort at festivity, I want what’s underneath more.” He vanished it with a snap of his fingers, baring her dusky nipples for his attentions, which he wasted no time in lavishing up on them. His lips found one as his forefinger and thumb teased at the other, taunting both into straining peaks as she gasped his name and pressed up into his ministrations. After their earlier quickie on the counter, he vowed to take his time now, savoring what they had. 

And she was a delight to be savored, each sharp inhalation and moan and mumbled utterance a guide in how to appreciate her, pleasure her. He traced every inch of her body he could reach with fingers and lips and tongue. By the time he kissed his way up her inner thigh, she was already quivering, and he knew she was close. Gauging just how close was, still, a bit of a guessing game, but he had long years gauging the delicate simmering of potions, and could make an educated guess from the glistening treat awaiting him between her legs. Parting her folds with his thumbs, he gave an exploratory lick to her center, tasting her, teasing her, appreciating the flavor of her and the obvious readiness of her body to accept his.

Pressing his own need into the unsatisfactory softness of the bedding, he concentrated on her, still stoking the fire of her arousal without touching her clit. Up and down with this tongue, around, until she was nearly wailing, something that might have been a plea but was too incoherent to be understood as such in anything but tone. 

At that point, he gave her what she wanted, what they both wanted, and brought his tongue across her once, twice down. And then she was gone, sobbing out something like his name and tangling her fingers in his hair, tugging at him as if she couldn’t decide whether to hold him in place or pull him away from her inflamed flesh.

He was almost painfully aroused by that point, more than he realized was possible at his age. When her racing heart began to slow and fingers loosened their grasp on his hair, he slid up her body, trailing himself over already sensitized skin. When his lips found hers, still parted and panting, he traced them with his tongue even as his rock hard cock found her entrance, and he slid himself through her arousal, his sensitive head brushing her clit again. That shot her eyes wide open, pupils still dilated with endorphins, but so welcoming.

And she felt welcoming as well, as he pressed into her with deliberate slowness, savoring every centimeter. When he was as far inside her as he thought possible, she reached down and grabbed his bum, and pulled him deeper, even as her own hips rose to meet him, both of them moaning. His hands fell on either side of her shoulders, letting him lean down to kiss her, when he didn't need to breathe. 

As soon as he began to move, he knew he wouldn’t last long. Not with her walls clutching him so snugly, not with her hands reaching to tease at his balls, not with how close he’d been to start. 

He could barely slow himself enough to tell her. “Her...Hermione...I can’t...I can’t….Oh sweet….”

She kissed the tip of his nose, which should have made him scowl, even now, but only made him love her more. “It’s all right...Severus...” Her hands were stroking up and down his back, encouraging.

It didn’t take much encouragement for him to speed up, and take his pleasure. It rattled the bed as he slammed into her, faster and deeper, and she was meeting him as best she could, until he buried himself in her and came so hard he thought he might have blacked out for a few seconds. 

The next thing he knew, he was beside her on the bed, arms wrapping around her as she snuggled back against him. And as he was falling asleep, he murmured “I love you,” directly into her ear. 


	21. Chapter 20 - December 25, 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christmas the day after Thanksgiving? Sure, let's go with it. Enjoy, and know I've got something in the works for when this is finished, though not this long.

There were no visions of sugarplums in his dreams, but he slept the night soundly and peacefully with the woman he loved wrapped in his arms. He remembered that being the only thought running through his brain as he’d found his release with her last night, then passed out before making sure she’d been satisfied as well. Whether the words had actually escaped his lips was not something he recalled. To his great surprise, if it had, the idea did not panic him as two weeks ago the thought of saying such a thing aloud might have done.

As he stirred in the predawn light, he thought to make that lacking orgasm up to her, but it seemed that he was not the only one with such ideas. He’d wakened to the movement of the bed, which was apparently Hermione shifting around, preparing to turn her attentions to his semi-firm cock. If he’d been vaguely wakeful before, his eyes snapped wide open as her tongue traced the length of him and he felt most of the blood in his body rushing that direction. He flicked the sheets back, and settled fully onto his back to watch her have her way with him.

It took little effort on her part to bring him to full attention--frankly just seeing her directing her attention to him was enough to bring him nearly fully erect. The sloppy kisses she was trailing up and down the length of him were enough to bring him the rest of the way there. It had been years since anyone had touched him this way, and he found himself chanting her name, which dissolved into a string of “Huh-huh-huh” as he lost coherence when she began to hum around him, alternating suction with swirls of her tongue.

When he felt his balls tightening, he tried to pull away but she put a stilling hand on his thigh, urging him back. Their eyes met, even as her lips were still around the head of his cock, and he fell back with a groan and let her take over fully, allowing himself simply enjoy it. She kept her mouth on him, kept licking and sucking as he came, taking him in, cleaning him off.

“Merlin, Hermione,” he managed to pant when she finally climbed back up to snuggle against him. 

She tried to kiss his cheek, but he turned his head and caught her lips. When they broke apart, she said, “I love you, too,” and kissed him quickly, twice. Then she cuddled back against him, head lolling onto one of the pillows.

He must have said it out loud, then, at some point in his ecstasy last night. “I love you, Hermione.” It came easier, clearer, this second time, as he wrapped an arm around her and shifted to curl into her warmth. 

Tilting her head, she kissed him again, not quite meeting his lips. “Happy Christmas.”

He returned her kiss. “Happy Christmas.” They kissed again. “What time is it?”

“Not quite five. Go back to sleep.”

He hummed, and happily dozed back off, with her in his arms.

  
  
  


When he woke again, it was to her kissing him once more. “It’s half eight.”

Humming in understanding, he squinted at the bright daylight streaming through her white curtains, glaring off her white and yellow sheets--which were printed with pineapples, of all things, not flowers--and buttery yellow walls. “It’s like being inside a lemon.” He rolled over and buried his face into the pillows.

Her giggles and kisses across his back persuaded him to roll over, doing his best to glare, but it was difficult when he felt this good. This was the happiest he’d ever been in his life. That alone was holiday miracle enough. Catching her hand, he tugged her towards him so he could kiss her good morning properly, urging her to straddle him as he did so, but she resisted.

“I believe you’re owned an orgasm or two this morning,” he purred, trying to persuade her.

She shook her head, hand coming to rest on the center of his chest. It was enough for him to pause and lean back, concerned, while taking in her sober expression. “There’s not some running tally. And it’s extraordinary that I came twice that first night--that’s not usual for me. Last night was marvelous.” Kissing him, she caught his bottom lip between her teeth for a moment. “But I won’t argue if later tonight you want to try to make that happen again.”

“Later tonight?” He raised a brow and trailed a teasing thumb across her nipple, watching it begin to peak.

“Tonight.” She kissed him again, then rolled away and sat up on the edge of the bed. “Because if you intend to do anything properly starting now, I will have an unpleasantly rushed morning and be late for Christmas luncheon at the Potters.”

The very thought of spending time with the Potters was enough to take the edge of any arousal that had been building within him.

“And,” she continued, looking back over her shoulder at him, “as wonderful as the sex is, I also love just spending time with you. A leisurely Christmas morning with you would be--”

“Perfection,” he finished for her with a smile. He rolled over and stretched across to tauntingly pinch her bare arse, then swung his legs around to sit up next to her, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. 

They showered together, taking their time, washing one another, teasing a little but mostly behaving. When they dressed and descended for breakfast, they found a tray of fresh pastries that must have been a gift from Nella, in spite of her having the holiday free from work obligations. They each sat down with a pain au chocolat as the tea steeped, filling the kitchen with bergamot. Watery winter light streamed through her conservatory windows, as they settled in next to one another, chairs so close they were just shy of touching at the hip. Occasionally their hands brushed as they ate, and occasionally they fed other another nibbles of whatever pastry they were eating. No one had ever fed him anything like that before; at first he was resistant to such foolishness, but once he took a bite of the cheese and berry pastry, licking her finger as he did so, he realized it had points in its favor. 

Only after they’d finished an entire pot of tea did they send the dishes to the kitchen, and he offered to leave the rest of the pastries for her enjoyment. Nella would be happy to make him more any time he asked, and half the time when he didn’t--it was not unusual to wake to the smell of something baking in his kitchen, and he would have to remember to request her cinnamon rolls the next time he planned for Hermione to stay over.

The tree was illuminated with a wave of her wand, and there was a small pile of gifts under it. While he found a seat on the couch and lit a fire in the grate, Hermione sorted through the presents, sending a larger pile than he’d expected floating his way. She left quite a few presents under the tree, settling onto the couch next to him with half a dozen items, mostly those he recognized as being from him.

At his querying look back at the packages still under the tree, she shook her head. “Professional gifts. There’ll be four paper planners, despite the fact that my business involves making electronic calenders. Some generic chocolates. A few bottles of liquor despite the fact that I rarely indulge in more than wine.” She shrugged and he smiled, knowing all too well that quite a few of the gifts she’d sent winging his way were of a similar ilk.

And indeed there were, always in the most garish paper and bows, too. Three generic steel stirring rods, a tin of chocolate malt balls, and a bottle of middling sherry that would probably be handed over to Nella for cooking. All of those were addressed to Master Rus Prince. There was a silver cylinder topped with an offensively tartan ribbon whose source he knew before even touching it--Minerva, who always sent a bottle of something to Severus Snape. It was usually something nice though, and he was not disappointed to open it and find a bottle of Laphroaig, perfectly good stuff that he’d nurse over the year, to be replenished next Christmas.

Then he came to what he’d saved for last, knowing these were the gifts from Hermione, because they sported the same snowflake ribbon as last night’s gift, though the paper varied in color from white to a shiny silver to a sparkly blue. There were three of them.

“Should I open these in any specific order?”

“Open the silver one last.” 

Deciding to open the gift that was already in his right hand first, he untied the bow and removed the blue paper from the rectangle. It was significantly heavier but smaller than last night’s scarf, but was also inside its own plain brown box. Inside, he found a shining new copy of the 118th edition of  _ Flora of North America and Their Varied Uses, _ the sparkling gold title a contrast to the soft, green leather binding.

“This isn’t available yet!”

A broad smile graced her lips. “It’s not available in Britain yet. It’s been out in the US since October. I picked it up when I was in New York.”

“Thank you, I’ve been waiting to get my hands on a copy.” 

The white gift was next, which contained a tiny jewelry box. Curious, he opened it slowly to reveal an onyx tie tack, which could be worn with his cravats.

“It’s charmed,” she explained as he peered at it. “It has a temperature regulation spell on it. I thought that might be handy when you’re brewing. Or for your throat.” She looked unsure, suddenly, as she hadn’t with him since their relationship had truly commenced.

“It will be. Thank you.” He touched the stone with his index finger, and felt it as warm as his skin.

Finally, he turned his attention to the silver package, somewhere in size between the other two, and not particularly weighty. He’d gotten over his reserve about ripping into such pretty things, and tore into the paper. It took a moment of starting at the sleek packaging to realize what he was looking at.

“A mobile!” One of the fancy ones like she had, too, with all kinds of features.

“Yes. It’s already set up for you. Working on your computer the other day gave me the last information about your wards that I needed to get it ready to go.”

“Now I can call you, rather than sending an owl.”

“Or send a text.”

“You will have to give me a lesson in how to work this.” He liked the idea of instant communication, without the need to speak. And so much subtler than an owl.

“All the lessons you need are included with the gift,” she laughed.

He leaned across the space between them and kissed her. “It’s wonderful. Thank you, Hermione.”

Then it was Hermione’s turn. She opened a sweater from the Weasleys, a few novels from friends, and a rather ridiculous hat with furry ear flaps from Miss Lovegood. When she read the accompanying note she let out a snort of laughter, but she shook her head and did not share with him.

“Does it matter?” She pointed between her two remaining gifts, both from him.

He shook his head, nervous, though he knew she’d be delighted with at least one of them. When she opted for the larger box first, he breathed a small sigh of relief, knowing he would at least appreciate the final gift.

She made quick work of the wrapping, but once she reached the box, she was careful in unpacking it. For a moment, she stared down before lifting out the lid of the Wedgwood Florentine tea pot, then delicately extracting the pot itself.

“Severus! This is gorgeous.”

“I thought it might go nicely with the tea.”

“This is far too lovely to use every day.” She was cradling it as if it might implode.

“Nonsense. The point of having nice things is to make use of them.” He’d been without anything nice in his life for so long, it was still a treat to him to have and enjoy them. 

“Well, only for when I have your tea, then.” Setting the pot back down in its soft packing, she leaned over to kiss him.

Then he urged her to open the other present--if she’d thought a decent tea pot too nice, she might just refuse the other gift. Opening the wrappings and box, she gasped and pulled her hands away from it as if it might burn her.

“Sev--where--this--I can’t…” She babbled for a minute, then snapped her jaw shut and stared down at the item in her lap. Tilting her head at him, she asked, “Is this real?”

“It is.  _ L’histoire de Nimue _ has been in my collection for five years. I’ve run every test I know on it, and traced its provenance back as far as 1343. So far as I can tell, it is genuine.”

“Another of your ‘lost’ books?” Cautiously, she lifted it from the box, letting the wrappings fall away. The cover was leather so worn that it had lost most grain and any lettering that had been tooled into it was only a silhouette of what had once been painted and embossed.

“Lost, and found in Marseille.” 

“You can’t give this to me, Severus. It’s priceless.”

“You will appreciate it far more than anyone else would.”

Supporting the spine with one hand, she opened the cover with the other, fingers hovering just at the edge of the frontispiece. Then she flipped a few of the pages cautiously, studying them. 

“There’s so much magic in this.”

“I could feel it the moment I walked into the shop. The muggles had no idea, beyond it being something antique.”

“I wish I could spend the afternoon here reading it.”

“You can always skip luncheon.”

She laughed, closing the book and hugging it to her chest. “They’d almost expect it, forgetting Christmas dinner to read a new book.”

“Then come spend the evening in my library, with me and  _ Nimue.” _

Smiling, she nodded. “Of course. And a little while now, too.”

He pulled out the book she’d given him, and with a few spells brewed them up another pot of tea, in her new tea pot. They spent a very pleasant morning together, occasionally reading a bit of their respective book aloud to the other, the other offering thoughts.

But at eleven, the alarm she’d set on her wand sounded, and it was time for her to depart. And he’d be returning to his own home, too. They stepped out into her garden together, hands clasped lightly. He had his new scarf already wrapped around his neck, warming him with more than temperature. She wrapped her arms around him, capturing him in a fierce hug before tilting her face up so he could more easily lean down and kiss her. 

Not beng a foolish man, he took ample advantage of the opportunity, teasing her lips with his tongue and deepening the kiss into something that promised more. Tucking back an errant curl, he whispered into her ear, “Until later tonight.”

“Oh.” She sounded as if she’d forgotten his offer from this morning. While he fully intended for them to spend some enjoyable hours in his library together, there were many ways in which they could enjoy themselves. “Yes. Until tonight.”

She kissed him once more before he stepped away, holding her hand long enough to press a kiss to the back of her hand. Then he took another step away, and apparated himself home.


	22. Chapter 21 - December 26, 2012

It had been nearly midnight until they’d made it up to the bedroom from the library, leaving their clothes scattered across chairs, the floor, and his desk. Though he was usually a fairly early riser, it was most definitely mid-morning sun he woke to on Boxing Day. And he also woke to a bed nearly taken up by a sprawled witch, curls tumbling across both the pillows and limbs akimbo, with just one hand wrapped around his bicep. She looked so comfortable and relaxed that while he turned on his side to study her, he was loathe to wake her, even when she murmured softly at his movement.

The blankets had shifted as they slept, and he righted them with a twitch of his hand, wanting little else than to stay here with her in the soft, warm comfort of his bed. It had been a busy few days for her, and he wanted to allow her as much sleep as she desired. While there was certainly a part of him that was quite eager to wake her as she’d woken him the other morning, the physical part of him that ached a bit as he stretched reminded him that he was no longer a young man. He thought of what she’d said about enjoying just spending time with him, and pondered a long, lingering morning in bed together.

Carefully, he slipped from the bed, tucking the blankets back around her, then quietly made his way to the loo. After taking care of morning necessities, and wrapping a robe around himself, he checked on the still-slumbering Hermione before slipping silently down to the kitchen. Nella had the day off, though she appeared mere seconds after he opened the refrigerator door.

“Breakfast, sir?”

“Not necessary, Nella. Please enjoy your day, I’m just fixing a tray of tea and toast.”

The elf studied him for a moment, then with a snap of her fingers, there was a tray at the ready on the island, with butter and jam and crumpets, silverware, and his old tea pot just waiting for him to add water. “Happy day, sir,” was all she said, before disappearing silently. 

He shook his head, then spent the time waiting for the water to boil adding a few other things to the tray. Nothing as foolish as flowers, of course. But he sliced an apple and a pear, casting a stasis to keep them from browning, and added a few small flavored pots of honey from a neighboring farm--clover and lavender, which he found particularly delicious. Just before the kettle began to whistle--because it would do no good to burn the tea, or wake Hermione--he poured it into the tea pot, leaving his personal breakfast blend steeping as levitated the tray behind him, back up to his bedroom.

Hermione was burrowed deeper in the blanketing, now sprawled over onto his side of the bed as well. Leaving the breakfast tray sitting on a night table, he shed his robe and slithered back under the covers with her. As he ran his hand up the curve of her spine, she hummed and shifted, rolling to face him, hair half-obscuring her face. Though she smiled, she didn’t open her eyes, until he tilted his head awkwardly to kiss her.

When he pulled away, she was gazing up at him with slightly bleary eyes, blinking to clear them. “Morning,” she mumbled, reaching for him and sliding an arm around him, catching his leg with hers, languid, as if she was melting around him. 

It was not an unwelcome feeling, all warmth and softness enveloping him. “Good morning. I have brought up breakfast.” He kissed her hairline, burying he nose in her curls. “Should you desire it.”

“Mmmm.” She hummed against his neck, tickling the scar tissue in a not unpleasant way. “I’m not sure it’s breakfast I desire at the moment.”

“Oh? And what is it my witch desires this morning?” His hands skimmed down her back to cup her bum, giving it a light squeeze and pressing her closer into his side. 

Humming again against his neck, she snuggled into him, hitching her leg over his a bit more until he could feel the heat of her against his upper thigh. It was tempting to help her swing just that little bit further over onto him, onto his burgeoning want. Instead, he rolled into her a bit, one hand now able to slide down and tease across the crease of her hip and thigh, just shy of where she probably wanted him.

Then with startling focus, her hand moved down his side and over his hip, bypassing his cock and going straight to his balls, He let out an embarrassing noise that was half-shriek and half-groan; she rolled them in her palm, sending him to full attention in what felt like seconds, leaving him almost light-headed. Only then did her delicate fingers glide up the length of him, just firm enough to satisfy.

“I might desire,” she practically purred into his ear, “finally getting to spend a leisurely morning in bed with my lover.” Her thumb stroked across his head, where he was already leaking. “Maybe all day. If you’re up for it.”

He strangled out a laugh that was closer to a moan. “I would love nothing more than to spend the day in bed with you. But do bear in mind when thinking about what I am up for, we’re making vacation plans for my fifty-third birthday next month.”

“You’ve seemed remarkably youthful so far. And there’s so very much we could do here.” She rolled away suddenly, sprawling into a stretch, but smirking. 

Only half a second behind her, he rolled over too, cutting off her spine-arching stretch as he pressed himself on top of her. She put up no resistance as he pressed her into the mattress, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. They were both panting til he shifted enough to meet her eyes, and position himself properly between her legs. 

When his eager cock found her welcomingly hot and wet, it was his turn to hum, as he trailed his lips up her neck to hip her ear, and stroke himself across her clit until she gasped and thrust up to meet him. She turned her head and caught his lips again as they worked together to find a rhythm, foiled occasionally by the erratic slide of him through her slippery labia. They ground together like randy teenagers for a while, exchanging teasing kisses. 

Then she wrapped her leg up around his hip, changing both their angles, and he was halfway inside her before he realized what she’d done. There was no restraint as he thrust himself the rest of the way home, burying his face in her curls. They were content that way for a while, and he certainly had to hold himself back from coming when he knew she wasn’t quite getting there with him.

Even a rolling grind of his public bone into her clit didn’t seem to be doing it for her, as she let out little whimpers of frustration, just on the edge but unable to tip over it.

“What do you need, love?” He asked, tongue tickling the shell of her ear.

Her hand slid down to his hip. “Can we...reposition?” She pushed on his hip and he took her meaning, withdrawing with a mild groan and supporting himself as she rolled over underneath him, sliding a pillow under her hips. When he lowered himself again, he shifted down the bed a bit until he could push into her again, and both of them moaned in relief. 

Kissing his way up between her shoulder blades to her neck, he thrust a few times, trying to find the best—

“Oh, yes, there!” Her bum thrust up to collide with his hips, and he grabbed her hip to help with the angle. It wasn’t the depth—though she seemed to appreciate that, too—but the stroke of him against her front wall, and he was more than happy to oblige.

She came apart within a dozen strokes then, clutching at the sheets and practically crying in ecstasy. Or so he hoped—it was difficult to see her face, buried in the pillows, and he was so close that he could focus on little beyond the way she tightened around him and pulled him over the edge as well. With a few erratic final thrusts, he buried himself as deeply in her as possible, collapsing down until he was surely crushing her, heart racing.

But she was pressing back into him, rolling them both onto their sides. Automatically, his arms wrapped around her, keeping her close, somehow almost keeping him inside her. He was too sated to care at that point, content to cuddle back up with her and fall asleep again. Yet it felt like only seconds later when she shifted in front of him, her warmth disappearing. He reached out with one pathetic, flailing arm.

She was already on the other side of the bed, but reached over to tickle his ribs. “I’m just going to the loo. Then I believe you said something about breakfast?”

He hummed again, and rolled onto his stomach, blocking out the daylight now illuminating the room. By the time she rejoined him, he’d rallied, levitating the breakfast tray over to the bedside as she curled back into the blankets, somehow straightening them as she did so. He stared at her for a moment, and the now perfectly neat duvet tucked across her bare breasts, before returning his attention to their tea.

Only after he handed her a tea cup—a splash of milk, no sugar—and watched her savor two long sips of it did he ask, “Jam and butter?” while waving a crumpet in her general direction.

“What jam?”

“Strawberry from the garden, or orange marmalade from the shop.”

“Butter and strawberry, please.”

After preparation, he handed her two crumpet halves, one of which she devoured almost instantaneously. Then she blushed and had the grace to look appalled at herself. She sat the other crumpet aside and took another long drink of tea.

“Sorry, I’ve been burning a lot of calories and am just ravenous this morning.”

“It seemed only fair I resupply you with carbohydrates.” There was a hint of laughter in his voice, as he took a slow bite of his own crumpet—marmalade, no butter.

She elbowed him lightly before eating the other half with much more delicacy, then politely asking for a refill of her tea. Then she began looking at him from under the edge of her lashes, rousing his suspicions.

“Have I broken out in a sudden pox?”

“No, no, nothing like that. Just…” she took another long drought of tea. “Harry and Ginny asked who I was seeing. The sister of one of Ginny’s Harpies was at the National Portrait Gallery because she’s...well, you don’t really care about all the specifics.”

He shook his head and frowned. While he loved Hermione, he also valued his privacy. And he still wasn’t sure how he felt about their relatively new relationship becoming public knowledge; the inevitable result of that would be people realizing who he really was. And that would be as much of a headache for her as for him.

“Anyway, we were spotted. Lila didn’t recognize you, but she knew who I was. Ginny didn’t know anything, but was very interested in finding out.”

“What did you tell her?” He was surprised his tone didn’t freeze his tea, before he sat it back down on the tray.

“I told Ginny and Harry that I’m seeing someone new, and we’d gone out a few times, including to the Portrait Gallery where Lila saw us.”

“I see. You did not mention my name?”

“Neither of them. I left the impression that it was a fairly new, casual thing. But they invited you to their New Year’s party.”

“No,” he replied automatically.

She put down her teacup and swallowed her last bite of crumpet before turning to look at him, one hand reaching up to rest on his shoulder. “Severus, I understand that you’ve built yourself a life based on no one knowing who you are. But you haven’t gone out and lived a life as Rus Prince—you’ve changed your name and put on glamours, but still hidden yourself away.”

It was true, and he knew it. And until recently, he’d thought it was for the best. But when another person became part of his life, it became astronomically more complicated. “I know.”

“I love you Severus, and I want to explore what a relationship and a life can be with you. But you have to come out of your own exile a little, too. Even if it’s as Rus Prince.”

He looked down at his fingers, which were twisting the edge of the sheet. With effort, he let go of it and reached for her hand, twining his fingers with hers. “I have spent most of my life alone, Hermione. What little has been lived publicly has been as much of a role as any of those actors in ‘The Winter’s Tale.’ But now…”

Bringing her hand up to his lips, he kissed the back of it. “I love you and want to see what my life can be like with you in it. And to do that, at some point I have to step out of the bubble I’ve created for myself.”

She shifted closer and wrapped an arm around him, kissing his cheek. “You’ve already stepped out of it.” 

Twisting, he pulled back and looked at her, exhaling slowly and thinking about her words. It was true, he realized--he’d unthinkingly stepped out of the bubble the moment he’d sat down with her at The Leaky Cauldron. As he closed his eyes, he nodded, head dropping to rest against her temple. “I have. For you.”

Her fingers brushed through the hair at the base of his neck, so soothing. Breathing slowly, he closed his eyes and took in the scent of her, mixed with the aroma of tea and the lingering scent of sex. His hand slid around her, caressing up and down her back, feeling her breathe along with him.

“Though I do not wish to attend a holiday function at the Potters, I am not opposed to your acknowledging to them that you are in a relationship with Rus Prince.”

“That’s fair,” she said, tugging his hair lightly to lift his head, and kissing him tenderly. “You know that Harry has access to enough records to put the pieces together, though.”

“Yes.” He returned her kiss, grazing her lower lip with his teeth. “One step at a time.”

“As long as you’re aware you may not have control over all of those steps.” Her fingers resumed stroking the back of his head, and he leaned into it like a contented feline.

“I recognize that.” Allowing himself a few more minutes to enjoy her embrace, he eventually cleared his throat and sat up a bit. “Another crumpet?”

“Mmm, split one with me?” As he buttered half for her, she continued, “You don’t mind if I attend the party?”

“So long as you do not mind going without me.” He handed her the crumpet.

“And how will you ring in the New Year then?” She took a bite and studied him as she chewed.

“As I spend any other evening of the year. With a book and possibly a glass of wine.” For now, he took a sip of his tea.

One of her fingers trailed up his arm. “I could leave the party early and join you here for midnight.”

The teacup hid his smirk from her, though he was fairly sure she recognized the expression on his face. New Year’s Eve meant nothing to him, and the only time he’d ever celebrated it had been grudgingly at the Malfoy’s. But any time at all that she wanted to spend with him was welcome in his book. “Shall I procure some champagne, then?”

Her smile was genuine, though, and she seemed to take a great deal of delight in the idea of celebrations; he supposed he’d have to get used to the idea of them as well. “Only if you enjoy it, too. I can’t drink a whole bottle by myself...well, I shouldn’t…”

That did make him laugh, at least enough to break him out of his pensive mood. “I am not especially fond of it. A nice bottle of wine instead?”

“Wine, then.” She smiled and sipped her tea, leaning into him, warm at his side.

They spent a very pleasant morning in bed together. Only at lunch did they migrate downstairs, to eat a light lunch and settle back beside one another in the library, where they passed a very enjoyable afternoon. Occasional snippets were read aloud to one another, and an article on American versus British doxy egg properties was discussed. 

Not until the grandfather clock chimed five did Severus look up from the data he’d been tallying, carefully double checking his work on the new computer. “Are you staying for dinner?”

Putting a finger in the book she’d been reading, she replied, “I can. But then I do need to go home. I need to feed Webber and spend some time with him, and get things sorted for work tomorrow.”

“Then let me get dinner started.” He saved the file, then saved it again, before rising.

“Do you want some help?”

“Your company is always welcome, even if your assistance is not required.”

When she returned home after dinner, he stood staring out into the garden, at the spot from which she’d apparated, for several minutes. After he closed the door and settled back into his work in the library, he couldn't help but feel how much emptier the house seemed.


	23. Chapter 22 - December 31, 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short-ish chapter this week, but next's is much longer. 
> 
> As this is drawing to a close, know that I'm working on another multi-part fic I hope to have ready to start sharing right after this one wraps up. And I'm also posting some holiday ficlets as well, if that's your jam!

There was a long debate between elf-made or French wine for New Year’s; he’d ended up procuring a nice bottle of each. Nella had been adamant that the evening was not a holiday, and she would take her holiday off on January 1st--and he knew by now not to argue with her on that front--so had prepared far more food than was necessary for two people, let alone when one of them was coming from another party. He’d at least been able to talk her into making some of the pastries suitable for breakfast as well, so they’d have something for morning without troubling her. 

Though he’d neglected to clarify what time she’d be arriving, he assumed it would be quite close to the midnight hour. So after dismissing Nella for the evening after dinner, and wishing her a good day’s rest tomorrow, he decanted the Bordeaux and fixed himself a glass of tonic with lime, and decamped to his second favorite room in the house--after his laboratory, naturally--the library. He knew she’d find him there, and the wards would alert him the moment she arrived in the garden anyway.

The clock in the hall chimed the passing hours through evening, but he was largely unaware as he lost himself in the ingredient research he’d fallen slightly behind on this past week. Only when he felt the ripple in his wards of a permitted acquaintance arriving did he begin to clean up his desk and wave another log onto the fire, setting it crackling again. He heard Nella at the garden door, clucking at Hermione as she apparently found her attire unsuitable to the winter weather. Then there was a gentle tap at the ajar library door.

“Severus?”

A wave of his wand sent the last of the journals back to their places, and he tucked it into his sleeve as he rose to greet her. “Where else would I be, love?” 

It still surprised him how wonderful it felt just to embrace her, feeling her slim, strong arms around him, breathing in the scent as her curls tickled his nose. Canting his head, his lips brushed the shell of her ear and he felt her shiver against him, obviously as affected as he.

She turned and nipped at his chin, then kissed it, grinning. “The lab, or the kitchen. Or waiting for me naked in bed.”

“Would you have rather the latter?” He’d apparate them both right into his bedroom upstairs and vanish his clothes if it would make her happy.

“Well, it’s what I might have done,” she said with a laugh and a flush of her cheeks. 

“I shall look forward to that treat at some later date.” He kissed her deeply, then stepped back enough to appreciate the slim excuse of a dress she wore. It was not much more than being naked—it certainly left nothing to his imagination, merely coated it in iridescent silver sparkle. “You went to the Potters in this?”

Her fingers skimmed the mid-thigh hemline and snorted. “I’m a Transfiguration Mistress, Severus. This was tea-length with a bateau neckline while I was trying to avoid the advances of Damian Morgan.” 

He didn’t know what a bateau neckline was, but his perplexion quickly passed into a glower at the idea of another’s advances. “Who?”

She rolled her eyes, then twirled away from him to collapse onto the couch. “Some Ministry colleague of Harry’s. They’d invited him before I mentioned at Christmas I was seeing someone, and he thought that he’d press his case anyway. Until I hexed his hair to strobe through a rainbow of colors.”

Joining her on the couch, he summoned the wine and poured them each a glass as he asked, “They all know you’re involved now?”

“Yes, I was rather compelled to announce it at that point.” She took the glass from him and tapped it against his with a smile.

“By tomorrow half of wizarding Britain will know we’re together then.” He stared down into the dark wine, stomach still roiling uncomfortably at the idea of any publicity coming his way.

“No,” she shook her head. “I only said I was in a serious relationship. Ginny and Hannah cornered me in the kitchen later—after the hexing—and asked for details. Well, Ginny asked about the hex first, then they wanted details.”

“I see.” He didn’t, not quite, but it seemed that he was to remain somewhat anonymous for the time being.

“They won’t tell anyone. Except maybe Harry and Neville, who probably won’t listen while they’re telling them anyway.” She slipped off her silver heels and tucked her feet up under her on the couch, which turned her to face him. 

“And the ladies’ reaction to your news?” He took a minute sip of the delicious wine.

“Oh, they’re quite pleased for me. Quiet, successful businessman with a country house? You’re a catch, and perfect for me.”

He snorted, but smiled. “This is hardly a country house.”

“It is a house in the country, removed from all the commotion and pollution. It’s marvelous.”

“I’m glad you think so. They did not inquire more about me?”

“Well, not any of the things that would give away who you really are. They wanted the girl-talk details. Only some of which I spilled.” She somehow managed to take a long sip of wine while smiling at him.

He decided to let those details go. “So this dress is all for me, then?”

“Do you like it?”

“If you have to be wearing clothing, it’s a fine enough dress.”

“You would prefer me naked in bed, then?”

“Obviously. But,” he waved one hand to turn on the wireless so slow music was quietly playing, and offered her his other hand, “I thought you might like a dance first.”

Smiling, she let him pull her to her feet, then she was against his chest, one hand on his waist and the other on his shoulder.

“What are you--?”

“I don’t want stuffily formal wizarding dances with you. I want a few muggle-style slow dances before the clock in the hall chimes midnight. And then,” her lips found his throat, and kissed it, tongue tracing her pulse. “And then I want to end up naked in bed with you.”

When thinking up this plan, such a thing as this had not occurred to him, but he wasn’t about to complain. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as they swayed, sometimes barely moving, to the music. Occasionally he dropped a kiss on the top of her head.

It was all pleasant and loving and  _ sweet, _ in a way that he’d never experienced before. Greedily, he wanted more of it. Every day of his life. But he knew it was too soon to be thinking that way; now was the time to be patient, to let their relationship build as it had been, quite successfully to his mind.

He wasn’t sure if it had been a few minutes or a few hours that they danced languidly around the library, hands gradually roaming over one another’s bodies but never quite escalating to something more, before the hall clock struck midnight. Then he lifted her chin with one finger and leaned down to kiss her, starting soft and gentle but deepening until their tongues were entwined as much as the rest of their bodies. Both were breathing heavily when their lips parted, but they only gave themselves few breaths before finding one another again, and their touches escalating into caresses. 

There was laughter—primarily from her—as they tumbled onto the couch, limbs tangling and one of her sharp elbows finding the spaces between his ribs. He yelped then, in a most undignified way, and sat up, glowering. It didn’t last long; it was too difficult to look unhappy while a gorgeous woman was sprawled on his furniture in a slinky little dress that threatened to reveal many of her finer features. 

She looked so well ravished from just their kisses, that it took him a moment to realize she was speaking to him. “...resolutions? Severus?”

Was she asking about New Year’s resolutions like he was some kind of child? He frowned, but that apparently was not a sufficient answer for her.

“Everyone needs a resolution. We all need to improve something in our lives.”

He raised a brow. “And what must you improve?”

Smirking, she waved a hand to summon her tiny, sparkly purse and withdrew her mobile. “This lets me stay connected, and makes working anywhere, any time so much easier. But that means I end up working everywhere, all the time. I resolve to be better at turning this on silent and taking time for myself.”

It was, actually, not a bad resolution, even to his cynical mind. And, selfishly, taking time for herself probably also often would mean time with him.

“So make a resolution.” She replaced the mobile in her bag, and sent it back over to the table where she’d left it earlier. Then she poked him in the ribs again, this time with one lacquered fingernail. They were not sparkly silver, but a bold pink that seemed very unlike her usual attire.

He leaned back, until his head fell against the back of the couch, and stared up at the ceiling. The old plaster had no answers for him. Then he thought back to their conversation in bed on Boxing Day. It was true that he’d hidden himself away, at least in Britain, even as Rus Prince; rarely had he ventured anywhere, except on anonymous holidays abroad, often in the most muggle of fashions unless he had something particularly interesting to investigate. He’d created a new life for himself, but not taken advantage of most of the benefits of it—he was still living as if he was the reviled Severus Snape, despite much evidence to the contrary.

That was something he could improve. It would probably improve both of their lives, or at least make her life with him easier.

“I will resolve to take advantage of the life I’ve created as Rus Prince, and enjoy it publicly.”

Smiling delightedly, Hermione fell against him on the couch, arms doing the best they could to wrap around his seated form. “That’s a wonderful resolution.”

“I thought you might approve.”

She kissed him, looking saucy again. “You know what else I might approve of?”

“Vanishing this dress so I can see what you’ve got underneath?” He nipped at her lower lip, nearly growling at her.

Her eyes were wide when their lips parted. “Who says I’m wearing anything underneath?”

“All the more reason to vanish it.”

But instead of vanishing it, he wrapped his arms around her and apparated them both directly into his waiting bed, to ring in the New Year properly. 


	24. Chapter 23 - January 6, 2013

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Friday is Christmas, but I am planning to post as usual. In fact, the tentative plan is to post both of the remaining chapters!

They had taken a private portkey to Florence on Friday afternoon, arriving in time for a dinner of tagliatelle porcini and a stroll around town to find gelato for dessert. It was chilly enough that the gelato didn’t melt as they took their time walking back to their muggle hotel, enjoying in the city at night. His prior trips to the city had been for research, and any of the more romantic aspects of it had passed him right by. This trip, with Hermione on his arm, as they walked along the Arno and through the Piazza della Signoria, he had finally been able to appreciate all the beauty on offer.

Saturday, they’d risen early and enjoyed breakfast on the hotel’s rooftop terrace, the only visitors able to subtly apply warming charms and enjoy the views. Then they’d headed to the Medici Library for their first day of research. There were two specific volumes he wanted to study, on early uses of ingredients from the Americas; Hermione had come with a list of her own that took up nearly half a page in her notebook. When she’d shown him the list over breakfast, he’d just shaken his head and smiled.

Naturally, perusal of what was available led them to finding even more books on their topics of research. The magical wing of the library was only open limited hours on Saturday, so most of their time had been taken up with finding the texts they wanted and putting them on hold for future study Monday. He’d amassed half a dozen works that actually seemed to have useful content, after casting aside nearly two dozen others which contained little more than fanciful illustrations or speculation on what sort of exotic ingredients might be available. Occasionally, he passed a volume over to her that might be relevant to her needs but not his, and she did the same as she worked through her mountain of texts. She’d put a pile of works half her own height on hold, everything from personal diaries to a treatise on medieval transfiguration spells; he’d had to help her carry them from the table they’d been working at together to the clerk, for since the library was both muggle and magical, no magic was actually allowed to be performed inside. He found the restriction a silly one, especially as he carried a dozen volumes of hers up to the counter of the magical wing.

But they’d both made a good start to the research they’d wanted to work on by finding so many useful texts, and so rewarded themselves with a relaxing lunch followed by another long meander through the city; Hermione seemed inordinately fond of just wandering around and taking in the sights while holding his hand. And it had been far more delightful than anticipated. They wandered into a few shops, and she’d purchased a few pretty ceramic platters and dishes for her home, and even persuaded him to buy a fruit bowl in deep blues and greens, saying it would be nice for the fruit from his garden, and he couldn’t disagree with that even if he was not normally one for souvenirs.

He persuaded her that she should have something from one of the jewelry shops along the Ponte Vecchio, though she’d argued that they were overpriced tourist traps. But she’d let him buy her a pair of simple gold earrings in a trefoil knot, an abstracted fleur de lis for their time here in Florence. Then they’d strolled over to the Pitti Palace, where they’d walked alone through the bare winter gardens, as most retreated inside to the museums. They sat on a bench in the weak January sun, in what was a rose garden in summer, and kissed until they weren’t sure whether the tingling in their extremities was from the cold or from arousal, and then made their way back to the hotel.

The morning of his birthday dawned even colder, frost riming the old window panes and making the peals of the six o’clock church bells carry over the rooftops, waking them. Neither were in a a hurry to emerge from the bed, however, having no plans for the day beyond dinner reservations much later. Severus pulled the blankets up around them and rubbed his icy nose on Hermione’s neck, causing her to squeal and writhe against him, then kiss his nose until it warmed up.

“Happy birthday,” she whispered, after a final kiss to his nose and one quick peck on the lips.

“That it is.” He returned her kiss, long and lingering this time, as lips almost parted then came together again, until tongues danced together and they were both panting when they broke apart. “Though it could do with being a bit warmer.”

“I’ll warm you up now. And we’ll remember to turn the radiator up tonight!” She giggled, and tickled his ribs until he smiled as well, then slid all the way under the covers, fingers skimming down his ribs to his hips, thumbs grazing in closer, teasing the edge of his pubic hair. 

Her lips found one of his nipples and he fell back with a grunt as her tongue teased over it at the same time as her now-warm fingers encircled the base of his cock. He couldn’t remember getting so hard so easily as he did with her, which had seemed remarkable at first and showed no sign of abating even after several weeks of semi-regular intercourse with her. All it took was a few strokes of her hand, and he was halfway hard and panting as she laved attention on his nipples, teeth grazing them intermittently, and nimble fingers juggling his balls. That sent him fully erect, and she began to slip further down his body.

However, he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, and he could feel her hesitation; she’d done this before, and knew he enjoyed it. But she also knew he liked reciprocating--he in fact loved eating her out--and so she understood his intent quickly when his hand reached down to her hip and gave her a slight tug, urging her to turn around. They hadn’t tried this yet, so there was some awkward fumbling as she tried to pivot without releasing his cock or whacking him in the nose with her knee, but amidst the laughter, they eventually found positioning that worked.

She teased up and down his length with light kisses, nearly frustrating until she began using a bit of tongue as well, and he let himself enjoy it for a few breaths as he took in the scent of her. Arousal was already building, and he returned her teasing with a few brushes of his nose just shy of where he now knew she wanted it most. When her tongue traced the length of him, he reciprocated with a swipe of his tongue up the length of her, from clit to perineum, causing her to gasp, a ticklish hot breath against his balls. 

Rather than laughing, though, he moaned, letting it vibrate against her labia as he tongued them apart, tasting deeper, flicking just the tip of his tongue inside her until he felt her contented moan around the head of his cock. That he liked very much, and she knew it, moaning and humming as she worked up and down the length of him while he tried his damndest to focus on her, though he had his suspicions that her intentions were for a bit of birthday spoiling for him.

It didn’t take long, between an appreciation of her own growing arousal soaking his face and the tightening in his balls under her tender ministrations, to know that they needed to stop if anything other than this was their ultimate goal. At least for him--he’d learned to quite consistently bring her off twice, and once even three times. Thinking about whether achieving that again would be as much of a birthday treat for him as it would be for her was enough to keep him from bursting in her mouth and withdrawing his tongue from her clit.

“Herm--mione…” his speech was rather muffled by her delicious thighs, and she seemed to think he was just teasing her, and continued her attentions to his glans, until he nipped lightly at the soft skin of her inner thigh.

Cold air replaced the heat of her mouth, and he felt himself shrivel a bit, his own thighs clenching. But Hermione was quicker to maneuver herself around above him this time, pirouetting over him so that she was straddling him once more, facing him and sliding back down his torso, her own arousal leaving a light trail down his sternum. Then her heat was over him, chasing away the chill as she slid up and down the somewhat softened length of him, bringing him right back to full attention. 

He reached up to cup her breasts as she reached down to take his erection in hand, giving him a few more attentive strokes before guiding him to her entrance. He groaned and pinched at her nipples as she sank down onto him, enveloping him in enough heat to keep him warm all day. 

She was smiling down at him, a tangle of curls falling over her shoulder, as she trailed a finger in a teasing loop around his nipples. “You like this position best, don’t you?”

How she was capable of forming full sentences was beyond him. “Yes...you like this...perfect.” He couldn’t help but roll his hips up into her then, pushing himself deeper and grinding his pubic bone into her clit, and watching her eyes go wide. Then a wicked smile spread across her face. 

When she began moving in earnest, one of his hands found her hip to help steady her as she rode him like a jockey in the Grand National. He wasn’t even sure he’d make it as long as the race, the way she seemed to take him deeper, and tighten around him a little more, with every movement of her hips. Finishing before her was a real worry, and he closed his eyes to take away at least the visual stimulation, hoping to hold off long enough to get her there with him. There was little else he could think to do for her, as her movement included a roll of her hips that ground her clit against him, and she made the most delightful little cry each time she did. All he could think to do was raise his hips a bit to meet her each time and let her take the control she’d clearly wanted in this situation.

Letting his eyes remain closed was not apparently part of her plan, for she was suddenly leaning down and kissing his eyelids, whispering his name in between kisses, in panting breaths. Her eyes met his when he opened them, pupils blown wide and shaded from the pale early winter light by a curtain of her hair. He reached up and tangled a hand in it, pulling her down for a sizzling kiss even as her hips kept up their maddening tempo. 

Abruptly, she broke the kiss, sitting up and stilling her hips to a grinding roll against him, and he could feel her tightening around him. He let out a strangled cry and gave up his own restraint, thrusting his hips up into her until she was crying out as well, then collapsed into a sweaty heap on top of him. 

It felt like long hours later, but in reality was only a few minutes, she shifted on top of him so that her chin was resting on top of hands crossed over his chest, smiling lazily up at him. “Happy birthday.”

“Indeed.” He mustered the energy to lean down and kiss the tip of her pert nose, then returned her smile. At 53, he felt happier and better than he ever had at 23, and he could think of no better way to start his personal new year.

“What did you want to do today?”

“Beyond this?” He trailed a finger up her spine and she shivered against him, clenching around his softened member.

“Well, we could spend the day in bed if you wanted. But I since we’re in Florence, it seems a shame….”

“Though I would appreciate a day spent just like this, I concur that to do so while traveling in a town such as this would be shameful.”

She kissed his chest, just a hint of her tongue teasing his skin. “Where to, then?”

“I have been here twice previously for research, and have yet to visit the Uffizi.” 

“That must be remedied today!” With a quick kiss, she was already off of him, and climbing out of bed. 

He caught her by the ankle and she tumbled back against him with a laugh. “They will not be open yet. It’s surely too early.”

She cast a quick tempus, then looked at him with a raised brow. “Just enough time to get showered, go out for a cornetto and coffee, and get in line to beat the rush.”

After a quick kiss, he let her go off to the shower first, as her hair took much longer to deal with than his. He dozed back off for a few minutes, until she roused him again, all pink and damp, and having apparently been clever enough to turn the radiator on in the room before showering. Tempting through it was to pull her back into bed with him, he did truly want to see the gallery, and so he drug himself into the shower and emerged feeling ready to face a brisk day in a lovely city with a beautiful witch at his side.

The clerk at the front desk directed them to the perfect coffee and pastry to enjoy while strolling over to wait in line at the Uffizi. There was a quick whispered conversation where he advocated using a Notice-Me-Not to slip into the front of the already well-formed line, but ultimately Hermione won out, and they took their place behind two dozen other early-rising art lovers. Given the early weekend hour, and the oddness of the season, there were not a lot of other patrons when the museum ultimately opened, and so they were able to take their time, and spent much of the morning strolling leisurely through the galleries of Botticelli and Caravaggio.

After a quick lunch of sandwiches at the museum cafe, they approached what appeared to muggle visitors to be the closed entrance to the Vasari corridor; in reality, it was the entrance to the magical galleries, for the works contained in it were all magical in creation. The additional bonus were the beautiful views as they strolled. 

It was an absolutely perfect day, as far as he was concerned. He’d been pleasantly surprised that Hermione kept ahold of his hand most of the time, only sporadically darting off to see something else or dropping it to get a different perspective on a work she seemed especially drawn to. Or to jab him in the ribs over a comment about the Medusa’s hair versus her own. But mostly, she’d seemed to love it as well, leaning in close to quietly converse about works and just content quietly walking with him and appreciating the nearly overwhelming amount of art.

Light was already fading when the finally stepped back out the doors, and an icy wind blew down the street. “Where to now, birthday boy?”

He wrinkled his nose at the term ‘boy’, but wrapped an arm around her as they headed up the cobbled street. “A drink and then dinner? Followed by an early return to the hotel?” He raised a brow as he looked at her.

“I could get used to traveling with you. Libraries and art and good food.”

“I will travel with you any time, anywhere you’d like.”

“Really?” She stopped, nearly tripping him, and looked up at him.

“I love you and would happily go anywhere with you.” He leaned down and kissed her, then urged her back into motion with a hand to the small of her back. She wrapped an arm around his waist and tucked in close as they meandered through the town.

Eventually, he pulled her into a little bistro, where they enjoyed a leisurely dinner. Hermione wouldn’t let him even look at the bill, and then insisted that they stop for a birthday gelato on the way back to the hotel, in spite of his protests that there was no such thing. He hadn’t protested a small cone of stracciatella too vigorously, though, and her lips were even sweeter after the hazlenut gelato she’d chosen. 

“Have you enjoyed your birthday, love?” She wrapped an arm around him as they strolled back to the hotel.

“Though I’ve had few celebrations with which to compare it, it has been the best I’ve experienced.” He kissed her, just for good measure, making it just that little bit better.

“I think I can make it even better.” One hand slid down from his slide to grope his arse just enough that he huffed out a laugh. But he didn’t protest as she stepped up their pace a bit, or when she practically dragged him back through the door to their hotel room.

Nor did he protest when her idea of celebration lasted well past the hour when his birthday expired, and the bells tolled midnight over the city. They didn’t hear them anyway, over the silencing wards they’d put in place. If they were a few minutes late getting to the library for research the next morning, neither had any regrets.


	25. Chapter 24 - September 19, 2013

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays, whatever you celebrate! For Christmas, I'm posting the final two chapters of this story.
> 
> Look for something new from me next week!

Severus wasn’t sure why Hermione had renewed the lease on her house in Richmond when it had come up at the end of May; she spent much of her non-working time at his home anyway. It seemed to be a home more for her familiar than herself, until she’d gone to work in New York for two weeks in July, and he’d offered to keep the feline. And it in his home Webber had remained. Since the cat had been moved into his farmhouse, he wasn’t sure if she’d been back to her home more than a dozen times.

The time had more than come for him to stop waiting for her to be the one to take all the steps forward in their relationship, and initiate something. And what better occasion than her birthday. 

Figuring out how, precisely, to ask her to fully move in with him when her lease was up again in December was a difficult matter. She’d long been added to the wards, and given a key to the house. There seemed little to do beyond that other than straightforwardly asking her, but he felt like there should be some kind of gesture he could make towards it.

And he’d needed to think of an actual gift as well, because an abstract gift to be fulfilled three months in the future was hardly enough of a birthday present for a witch such as Hermione. With brewing for the beginning of the school year at Hogwarts and the start of cold season, he’d so busy that planning a getaway like he usually did for his birthday hadn’t been an option for September. Though the thought occurred to him that some symbolic gesture encompassing all of that was exactly what was in order.

Thinking back on their trip to Florence, where they’d enjoyed the food and art and library together, he thought of how he might bring some of that to her. And he thought of how they spent most of their evenings together in the library by the fire, or now that it was summer, out in the garden, reading. It hadn’t taken any elaborate spellwork, though he had allowed Nella--who had become great friends with Hermione, and very much wanted to be part of the planning--to create the perfect evening. Most of what he’d had to do was a little home improvement.

So in spite of the urgent potion request in his email at noon, he still managed to finish up his work for the day by tea time on her birthday. That left him two hours before she’d return from work, and plenty of time for what he had planned. He cast a few spells and did a little reorganization, then closed and warded the library door with a charm that would redirect her on to the kitchen if she tried to stop in there first. But he had little worry of that, since she usually apparated home into the garden, where he planned to be waiting for her.

There were still plenty of plants thriving despite the imminent arrival of the autumnal equinox. He moved and enlarged the table they usually took their morning coffee at during the summer, and transfigured a nicer surface onto it. Staring down at his work, he thought he might just leave it the way he’d changed it, to allow more room for the tea tray; he’d decide on that later, though. Returning to work, he rearranged a few potted plants to best set off their scents and colors, remembering how she’d been attracted to the lavender the first time he’d brought her to his home. He’d saved a sheaf of blooms from it as well, drying them in his lab, and he summoned them to place in a vase at the center of the table just as Nella arrived with the place settings. 

The elf eyed his work critically before turning to the table and setting it herself; he would have felt badly about that if she hadn’t done it with a spelled snap of her fingers, but it was much nicer than his effort would have been, because he’d never cared where the forks went. For this occasion, though, it mattered to him, and letting Nella help was the best way to make sure it was done perfectly. And Nella seemed to think preparing a birthday dinner was her gift to Hermione.

When she apparated into the garden at half six, the light was golden perfection that left her looking even more beautiful than usual as her curls twirled around her as she stepped out of her apparition. She’d barely regained her balance when he caught her hand, kissing the back of it. Their eyes met, holding promises for more lingering, intimate kisses later. 

She stepped close and kissed his jaw, lips trailing down over the scarring on his neck in the way that always made him shiver. “I missed you today.”

“Which is precisely why you should not work on your birthday.” He led her to the arranged table and summoned a drink from inside after taking her cloak.

Hermione sank into the chair with a sigh, then took a long draught of the Rieseling he’d presented her with. “Thank you.”

“Relax, and I will return with dinner in a moment.” Nella could have brought it, and would have happily done so, but he wanted to serve her.

When he returned with their plates, her eyes were closed and the wine glass was half empty. As he did his best to quietly place their dinners on the table, she opened her eyes and smiled up at him. “You didn’t have to do all this.” One hand waved around at the plants and enlarged table and flowers. 

“I wanted to, since we couldn’t get away for your birthday as we did mine.” He reached into his robes and pulled out a box. “But this is for when we can.”

She eyed the modest cube suspiciously for a split-second before opening it, and peering down at the dented candlestick inside. “Where does it go?”

“Somewhere warm and remote. Whenever you are able to get more than a weekend free.”

“It’s unscheduled?” Such portkeys were possible, of course, but rarer and significantly more expensive.

“Yes.”

“The second week in October. If that works for you. I have to pop over to New York for two days, then I’m unplugging myself to...whoever you’re taking me.”

“It shall remain a surprise until then. But take your bloody birthday off next year, witch. It’s one of the big perks of being the boss.”

Sitting the box down by her chair, she smiled. “I think by next year, I can have Beth ready to step into the Office Manager role full-time, rather than merely being my assistant. The I’ll be much freer to keep a schedule like yours.”

“Not going in to the office, you mean.” He winked at her, then picked up his fork.

“I mean having more time to spend doing research on more advanced technology, rather than helping transfigure every iteration of mobile phone myself.”

“You’ll need some lab space, then.” He hummed, then turned his attention to the still-steaming dinner that Nella had prepared for them.

Hermione’s humm was noncommittal, but then turned into a moan of delight as she took a bite of the Coquille St. Jacques. She’d mentioned it was her favorite both times she’d ordered it while they were dining out, but thought it too fancy for home dining. He had no such rules, especially when he employed an elf who would rightfully be better off as a master chef somewhere. 

He paused, fork midway to his own mouth, to smirk at her. “I told you.” Then he took another bite of his own, thinking he’d have to ask Nella to add the dish to her regular meal repertoire, just for the look of bliss on Hermione’s face.

Wide eyes blinked at him, then she grinned. “I should have learned by now never to doubt Nella’s skill in the kitchen. Even if the dish is far to fancy for everyday. It’s nice to know we can have it for special occasions.”

“She adores you almost as much as I do, and would happily make it five days a week for you if you asked her. And I wouldn’t complain much. For the first week or so.”

After eating another bit, she replied, “But having it so often would take all the specialness out of it.”

Worry niggled at the back of his mind. “You have not lost any of your specialness for my seeing you practically every day.”

“That’s different.” She’d poked the fork in his direction. “I love you, and you’re a person, not a scallop.”

He hummed a vaguely committal response, and they finished their meal in silence. Every now and again, she looked at him curiously, but kept her peace. Only after the berry pavlova did he rise and offer her a hand.

“Another surprise awaits, my lady.” He hoped this wasn’t a terrible mistake that would ruin everything, as he led her into the house and halfway down the hallway.

Only then did he stop, and reach into his pocket for the sage cravat that she’d sent him nearly a year ago. When he held it up, she smirked at him, but closed her eyes. When he leaned in to kiss her after tying it, she whispered, “If this isn’t what it looks like, keep this for later.”

“I intend to,” his lips grazed her ear, then he kissed her cheek before straightening up and guiding her into the newly expanded office. Just for fun, he twirled her around in a few steps of a lazy waltz, enough to disorient her a bit.

Then he pulled off the blindfold, revealing two massively expanded bookcases standing empty next to a second desk. She stood frozen for a moment, then took a step towards them. One finger trailed across the glossy surface of the desk before she turned to the shelves, a hand stretching out as if to touch the spines of absent books. When she realized there were no warded books on them, she finally turned back to him.

“My own space? In your office and library?”

“Yes. Though I’d like it to become  _ our _ office and library.”

“Oh.” She turned back to look at the shelves and desk, then back to him once more, with wide eyes.

Panic spiked through him, that he’d overstepped, gone too far. Or not far enough, perhaps she thought it was more than he’d intended. “Since you and your familiar both already--”

She cut him off with a kiss, practically leaping into his startled embrace. In the second it took for his arms to surround her, it felt like she peppered half a dozen kisses on his lips. “That was a good ‘oh’, silly. Of course I’d love to move in with you.”

“Good.” He kissed her, soundly. When they finally separated, he continued. “That does not preclude further formalizing our relationship. I was just not certain if we were yet at a point where such a thing was appropriate.”

She kissed him again, slow and deep, while kneading his shoulders. Then she caught his eyes and didn’t look away as she said, “If you were uncertain, then we’re not at that point.” 

After kissing him again, she whispered, “And I’m not  _ quite _ at that point, either.”

“Then I think we are at the same place.” His lips found hers again, and relief and love washed through him. She would be coming to live with him, coming home to him every night; it was more than he’d ever dared hope for. These past few months with her had all been more than he’d ever dared dream of, so normal and enjoyable and easy. He’d never expected that for himself, had not even thought it possible, knowing how particular he was about his life and his routine. Yet she’d somehow fit right into it, disrupting life in only the most pleasant of ways, getting him out into society more as they visited museums and attended plays and musical performances. Most evenings they simply found themselves here in their seats by the fire, reading or working peacefully.

“I’ll start moving my books over this weekend. And notify the landlord that the lease won’t be renewed at the end of November.” She gave him a little squeeze, as he’d learned she was wont to do and he’d learned to appreciate. While he might never admit it aloud, he quite liked being hugged. By her, and only her. 

“There is no rush. Do things in your time. I am happy to assist in any way.”

“If it’s all right with you, I’d prefer to get things moved and be done with it. I really should have thought this through and had a conversation earlier, when the lease was up before.”

“I should have considered it as well. There is no objection to your moving in fully tomorrow, if it is your desire.” He returned her hug, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head, before releasing her and taking half a step back. “Now, I believe it is the birthday celebrant’s choice: a drink by the fire, or further surprises with the blindfold.”

It was no surprise to him at all when she reached for him, and drew the cravat he’d used as a blindfold back out of his pocket, trailing the silk down his arm with a saucy grin. He captured her hand, taking the silk from her only after kissing the back of her hand, then turning it over to trace his lips along the lifeline stretching across her palm. Then a whispered spell sent the silk wrapping around her head, knotting itself solidly just to one side, so she could comfortably rest her head on a pillow.

“Hold on,” he said as he wrapped himself around her and stepping them into an apparition direction upstairs into his-- _ their  _ bedroom. She was already breathless when they arrived, clinging to him with one hand fisted in the wool of his coat.

That made it easy to lift her onto the bed, where she giggled nervously when he pulled away. After shedding his coat and shirt and shoes, he leaned back over her, letting a few breaths warm her ear and listening to her own breathing accelerate. She jumped when he touched her shoulder, then relaxed as he kissed her while sliding one hand down the front of her blouse, divesting her of it with a quiet spell. 

One finger trailed up the midline of her abdomen, until he toyed absently with the scrap of satin holding her brassiere together. “This is supposed to be fun, love,” he assured her as she shivered under his touch, and he was unsure if it was from arousal or worry. “If it is not, inform me, and we will stop.”

“I—I like it.” Her voice was a whispery pant, arousal clear.

“Excellent.” He leaned down and kissed her, even as he removed her skirt with another spell. Then he knelt up and looked down at her, sprawled before him naked, curls tumbling across the pillows. For a minute he studied her, planning his attack and letting her anticipation build.

Silently, he summoned another cravat from his collection, one he rarely wore due to its delicacy. Tonight, though, it would be perfect. He summoned a quill, too, some ridiculous gift from years ago he’d stuffed into a drawer, but whose massive, fluffy feather would be just what he needed.

And it was, as she arched up into the light touches across her skin, sinuous trails that left her shivering and panting as he alternated between the soft silk and barely-there feather. Down her taunt arms gripping the bedframe, across her peaked nipples, over her abdomen that jumped away from the delicate touch. Until he trailed the feather down one leg, over her ankle, and was replaced by his lips. She gasped, then and almost jerked away, then was pressing into him, twisting to seek out the erratic pattern of his kisses across her calves and thighs, as he teased the silk of the cravat over the opposite leg. She practically levitated off the bed when his lips passed near the juncture of her things, then pulled away.

Her groan of frustration was fleeting, as this was her birthday after all, and he had no objective but to make her come as many times as he could before they both fell asleep. Abandoning both cravat and feather, he dove between her legs and sought her center with his tongue, working with the precision of one now well-practiced in bringing his witch pleasure. As her arousal built, one finger slipped into her, working in counterpoint to the relentless rhythm of his lips and tongue on her clit, driving her higher and higher until he was worried she might stop breathing all together. But he daren’t stop now, not when he could feel the contractions of her vaginal walls around his finger, could feel the tightening of her thighs around his head, feel the tension in the muscles of her abdomen.

When she finally broke apart, she was hissing out what might have been part of his name, or it could have merely been incoherent pleasure. It was her birthday, and he was a scientist, after all, so he would have to research further to see which it was. Her hands tightened in his hair and he eased his oral attentions to her temporarily, letting her body recover itself as his hands and lips took to tracing patters across her skin, whorls and runes and the word love in every language he knew.

Only when he felt her body grow relaxed again under his touch did he renew his attentions between her legs, vowing that she deserved at least one orgasm for every decade, as surely one for every year would be ridiculous and impossible for both of them. This, though, he knew he could do for her.

“Yes,” she urged him, as if she knew what he was thinking. Perhaps she did; it wouldn’t be beyond her considerable skill. But at this moment, it was probably a simple encouragement for the force of his tongue on her clit as arousal began to build again.

After she’d come undone again, he took a long, deep taste of her arousal before withdrawing from the warmth of her thighs. She made a strangled noise of frustration, but after removing the rest of his clothes, he rejoined her, sliding glacially up her body until every possible inch of skin was in contact. Arching up into him, she pressed herself even closer, wiggling her hips until she had shifted his cock almost exactly where she wanted it. Not quite, though, and he flexed his own hips a few times, teasing the head of his raging erection against her sensitive clit, almost more than he could stand. This was for her, though, and he occluded just enough to restrain himself and give him time to deliver her another proper orgasm before letting himself be overwhelmed by her response to him.

When she dug her nails into his arse and thrust firmly against him, though, he knew it was time to stop teasing. Sliding into her was still the best thing he’d ever felt, and he kissed along her jaw before whispering that in her ear.

One of her hands fumbled up his body until she found his face, and cupped his cheek. “You feel like you were meant to fit with me.”

He tilted his head to kiss her fingers. “I wish I could stay inside you all night.”

Leaning down, he pulled off the blindfold with his teeth, wanting to see her eyes. She opened them slowly, blinking before finally meeting his gaze. Then she shifted her head just enough to kiss him, tongue moving against his in time to the steady rhythm of his thrusts. 

He’d been on edge for too long, and could feel himself slipping further as she twisted her hands in his hair, nails raking over his scalp. But he had a goal, and that was to make her shatter again. It didn’t take much, sensitized as she already was, and for that, he was thankful; he knew how to twist his hips and roll over her clit with each deep thrust, until both of them were panting in synchronicity. 

And then she was clenching around him, walls squeezing his cock enthusiastically enough to trigger his own release, grounding and burning his head in her shoulder as her arms tightened around his torso. When he regained some of his better sense, he tried to roll off of her, but she wouldn’t release him, thrusting her hips against his, keeping him inside her even as she rolled with him and sprawled on top of his body.

“Happy birthday, love,” he managed, before they both drifted off to sleep in what he knew would not be a permanent sleeping position. They moved around far too much for that, and both of them would have potion-requiring aches and pains if they actually slept like this. But it felt lovely to drift off to sleep this way, even knowing they’d be sprawled on their respective sides of the bed come morning.

That was all right with him. He had never expected to have a side of the bed, or anyone to fall asleep on top of him. To his great surprise, not only did he have that now, seemingly permanently, but he found that he quite liked it. 


	26. Chapter 25 - December 25, 2013

Sunlight, brighter than appropriate for yuletide, snuck through breaks in the curtains and illuminated the room. To escape it, he rolled over, tugging at the warm, downy duvet, which came with some reluctance and a flick of dark tail in his blurry peripheral vision. He curled around the lovely witch still dozing beside him, curls tickling his nose as he kissed her neck. Hermione hummed a bit in her sleep, snuggling back into his embrace. 

He hadn’t been aroused, but it was difficult not to become so when wrapped around her like this, knowing how much she enjoyed sex like this--how often they’d spent a morning in just that manner. But this morning, he just wanted to revel in being here with her, wanted to stay dozing in their toasty, cozy nest of pillows and blankets. Under his arm, he could feel her take a deep breath and exhale with a sigh, nestling deeper into him and the bedding.

A heartbeat later, her fingers twined through his, tightening his embrace around her middle. “Can we just stay here all day?”

His nose teased the curve of her ear as he kissed the back of her her jaw. “You are the one who made plans for lunch with the Potters, love.”

There was a grumble from in front of him as she shifted, ducking her head down under the edge of the duvet and curling into an even smaller ball in front of him. His form followed hers, until she suddenly turned again, onto her back so she was staring up at him, one eye open.

“You’re still coming along, right?”

“I am,” he reassured her, kissing her cheek. “It is a tradition that is important to you and--”

He was cut off by the return of Webber to the bed, in a flying leap that landed on Hermione’s feet and left her in a fit of giggles, thrashing against him as the cat continued to bounce around. Then, as the cat seemed to settle onto its haunches, preparing to pounce again, he noticed something unusual.

“What is in his mouth?”

Lightning fast, Hermione was out from under the blankets and wrangling a reluctant feline into her arms. When she plucked the shiny silver bit out of his teeth, Webber zipped away out of their bedroom again. She held up the crinkled bit of something, squinting at it. “I think it’s tinsel.”

“I refused to decorate with tinsel.”

“That must mean gifts are waiting.” She began to climb out of bed, feet sliding into fleece slippers.

“If your familiar has not destroyed them.”

“If he has, it’s only because he’s spending so much time with you, and is starting to take after you, Mr. Grinch.” Grinning at him, she wrapped a festive tartan robe around herself, and then tugged him from bed. “Let’s go have breakfast and open presents.”

The allure of the the cinnamon rolls he knew Nella had left for their breakfast was enticing, and Hermione obviously wasn’t planning on remaining abed, however much she’d just wished to do so. So with some reluctance, he rose as well, donning his warm robe and tucking a special gift into the pocket, then followed her down the stairs. It immediately became clear that despite having the holiday off, Nella had been up and at work that morning--the fire was crackling merrily away, a pile of gaily wrapped gifts twinkling in front of it, the tree lights were lit, and the smell of freshly-baked treats permeated the air.

“Happy Christmas, love,” Hermione greeted him as he shuffled into the kitchen, then sat a cup of coffee cut with just a splash of cream, in front of the stool he normally sat at. 

He took a cautious, slow sip as he settled in and watched her doctor her own coffee, then plate up fresh cinnamon rolls for each of them. He shook his head at the baked goods, even as the plate floated over to rest in front of him. “I will have to speak with Nella tomorrow. She was supposed to leave them for us to pop in the oven, not get up and do all of this herself.”

“I think it’s her version of a Christmas present,” Hermione said thoughtfully, as she settled onto the stool next to him. “Maybe we should just accept it in the spirit in which it was intended.”

For a long moment he just looked at her, then nodded, and took another sip of his coffee. When he saw her reach for the cinnamon roll on her plate, though, he quickly put the cup down and reached for her hand. “Before you begin eating, or we progress to holiday presents, there is something else.”

She tilted her head and looked at him, brows raised slightly, but giving his hand, still holding hers, a little squeeze. He returned the squeeze, then released her hand and dug into the pocket of his robe. It was not wrapped, or festively colored, merely a black velvet box; he sat it on the counter between them.

“This past year has been the happiest of my life. You have changed my life for the better. And it would be my great honor if you would marry me, and make it better forevermore.” A brush of magic nudged the ring box towards her.

There was a tremble in her hand as she reached for it, lips parted and eyes welling with tears. Then her hand paused atop it, and she looked up at him, grabbing his forearm with her other hand. “Yes. It would be my honor to marry you, Severus.”

Only then did she open the ring box with a smile and slip the sparkling solitaire onto her finger. After little more than glancing at it, she leaned over and kissed him, newly ringed finger brushing through his hair as he tilted his head and deepened the kiss. Much as he wanted to do more--pull her onto the stool with him, take her on the counter--this kitchen was not suited to such things, and so he reluctantly broke the kiss with a swipe of his tongue across her bottom lip.

“The honor is all mine, Hermione.” He looked admiringly down at her hand, where the gold and diamond sparkled in the morning light.

“It will be mutual then.” She leaned forward again to quickly buss his lips. “You know we’re bound to get questions at dinner about this.” 

“I am aware. And I considered that all the joviality of such an occasion might lend itself to a better acceptance of who you will be marrying.”

“They have been so happy for us, even knowing you as Rus Prince, that I don’t think there will be any problem accepting you as Severus.” She nibbled on a bit of cinnamon roll with a blissful smile on her face, but then opened her eyes to stare at him again. “But are you all right with everyone at Christmas dinner knowing?”

“Much as it pains me, I believe you are right.” This discussion was familiar ground to them now, and it’s repetition had led to his serious consideration of her point of view. “At this point, my business is long-established and successful, and I am not the public face of it. I think letting the glamours slowly fade away and quietly living life as myself is the best way to embrace everything good in it. Including our relationship.”

She pulled a piece off the cinnamon roll and ate it, nodding, obviously weighing his words and her response, a smile playing at her lips. “I’m glad. I think you’ll be even happier for it.” 

“I agree. Though the adjustment period may be difficult.” He took a bite of his own cinnamon roll, savoring it with eyes closed.

“I don’t think it will be as difficult as you fear. Are you going to let the glamours fade today?”

He took a bite of breakfast and weighed his options. “I believe I should arrive as they have met me previously. Once we share our news, I can slowly fade them each time we see them.”

After nodding at him, Hermione popped the last bit of cinnamon roll in her mouth then took a long sip of coffee. She studied her beringed finger for a long moment after placing the mug down on the counter, a smile playing across her lips. “Then let’s go see where that tinsel came from. I can’t wait to go celebrate by sharing our news with everyone.”

And so he wrapped an arm around her as they made their way to the lounge, where she’d decorated a tree with sparkling ornaments and twinkling lights. He found he was actually looking forward to sharing this engagement he never expected to have, with people he never expected to like. He shook his head at the thought, and turned to the woman who’d changed so much about his life for the better, unable to stop smiling at her even when she handed him a tinsel-bedecked gift.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An enormous thanks to everyone who's come along on the journey of my first SSHG story with me. I'm so thankful for all the comments and kudos and encouragement along the way.


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